


Trally Scrapbook

by Ball_Jointed_Dragon, SpaceKase



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Amnesia, Blood, Discussion of mental illness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Other, Parental Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Victim Blaming, canon character death, dog attack, other tags and warnings will be added, retail abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 52,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ball_Jointed_Dragon/pseuds/Ball_Jointed_Dragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceKase/pseuds/SpaceKase
Summary: Several different points in various different times in many different places, and yet one thing never changes.





	1. Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Ball Jointed Dragon and I had a blast working on Three Nights of Trally. So much so, we've been working on this prompt list that she created ever since. 
> 
> The plan, so far, is to update this every Saturday.

Ashley came home from the jail in a storm of tears. She’d been present at his death, something everyone else had chosen to forgo due to their own, personal reasons. Of course, that didn’t make hearing it any better. 

Travis had to choke down his scrambled eggs when he heard Ash in the living room, explaining through her sobs. Explaining how her plan failed. How she was too late.

Travis had a difficult time getting through the next few days. He was so distracted that he quite literally ran into someone on his way to the church. He’d had to do a double take to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Sal Fisher was alive, well, and didn't remember a single thing before his supposed execution.

That was all right, Travis thought; he could work with that. They could work out what to do later on.

In the meantime, he tried to make Sal feel at home. "You used to  _ love _ this song, remember?" Travis asked, putting on a heavy metal song he hated but which Sal had loved.

It got a response, all right. It made Sal burst into tears. 

"Are you all right?" Travis cried, scrambling to turn the stereo off.

"It’s just...a really, really sad song, I guess..."

“Should I get you something to eat?” Travis played with his hands, trying not to let the thought run through his mind for the fifteenth time that hour. 

_ Sal Fisher is in my living room. And he should be dead. _

Sal shakes his head slowly, his eyes staring down at his hands as if they were a TV show. “I’m fine.” He said this as if he was asking himself a question. 

He didn’t sound too sure of himself.

“Right; I’m sure you are.” Travis wasn’t sure of that at all. “Can I get you anything?” 

Sal shook his head. “No. I’m fine,” he repeated. It sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself of that. 

_ That’s fine,  _ thought Travis.  _ This’ll all be fine. _

He made his way to the kitchen where his phone was charging. 

“Hello?” Ashley didn’t sound like her usual upbeat self, but at least she’d stopped crying. 

“Hey there…” Travis glanced out of the kitchen. Sal was still sitting there, still as the grave. “You’re not gonna believe this…”


	2. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis usually hates his viola recitals, but one performance draws a new, intriguing face...

Travis grit his teeth as he ran through the backstage of the auditorium. Of  _ course _ he’d be late for this one performance; it would be just one more thing his father would turn his nose up at. 

He’d been working as hard as he could his whole life, and yet nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough for the man who’d helped bring him into the world.

He shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind as he grabbed his viola, took his place on stage, and watched the curtain rise.

As the curtain rose, the light blinded him. It always did. His father claimed that he looked like a dumbass, standing onstage and blinking away the lights rays. Finally, just as he heard the light  _ tap tap tap  _ of his instructors baton, heard the audience go silent, he spotted him.

How could he have missed him? He was in the front row! And the fact that his hair was a vivid blue didn’t help but make Travis feel like an idiot. 

Yet this person… wore a mask, of sorts. The eyes were dark, so he couldn’t see their eyes, but he could feel them on him. 

This person also wore a dark sweater that covered their hands, one of which slowly raised and waved at him.

Travis unknowingly turned more toward this boy (how he knew, he was unsure), lifting his viola up and starting to play. 

Travis was skilled at his craft. It wasn’t something he bragged about; it wasn’t something that made him think highly of himself. It was a simple fact; night and day, ever since he was a child, he’d been given several things to practice. The viola was just one of them; there’d been writing, arithmetic, philosophy...

It didn’t matter how many interests had been forced on him, how many he’d discovered on his own; it didn’t matter how often he practiced every single one of them. 

His father still wouldn’t be satisfied.

The viola was one of the few things he was still capable of finding joy in, all this time later. And even  _ that  _ had been waning in recent years.

But as he saw the eyes hidden by that mask, something started inside him. A new spark had just been lit. 

That evening, Travis found himself playing better and more passionately than he had in years. 

-

“Hey!”

Travis’s head turned up at the voice.

He saw the blue pigtails right away, bobbing quickly as the young boy rushed towards him. For some unknown reason, Travis wasn’t afraid that he’d be assaulted (as some people were more than happy to show their distaste for his music). 

Instead, he could practically feel the happiness and excitement coming off of the other in waves, watching as he stopped just before Travis.

“That was amazing! You play the viola so well!” Even his voice was bouncing with happiness.

“Well, I Uh, have to, ya know?” He laughed. “They pay my dad for me to play well.”

The boy tilted his head at this. “Don’t you get the money?”

Travis threw off the question quickly, holding out his hand. “My name is Travis. Travis Phelps. You would be?”

He peeked up, question forgotten. “I’m Sal. Sal Fisher. I came here with my parents and my brother.”

“Brother?” Travis asked with an easy smile, feeling himself slowly relax. 

“Yeah! He’s over there! Tall, ugly. The usual.” Sal laughed, then pointed out someone who towered over the crowd. “I’m kidding. He’s right there.”

Travis gave a small hum. “Are you sure? Your description was pretty spot on.”

They both laughed, before Travis noticed his dad glowering at him. Travis’s smile fell. “I Uh. Have to go. See you again?”

Sal tilted his head, eyes dancing. “Yeah. Hold out your arm.”

“Alright, I trust you.” Travis shrugged, holding out his arm. “I’ll risk an arm for a pretty stranger like you.”

He turned red when he realized what he said, but Sal didn’t seem to notice, writing a phone number high up on Travis’s arm. The blue ink was metallic, and stood out. Underneath the number, Sal added a signature and a note, which Travis couldn’t read at the moment.

Sal capped his pen. “Alright, I gotta go. See you soon!”

Travis smiled, saying goodbye. 

When he was sure Sal had vanished from the crowd, he glanced at his arm. 

‘Call me tonight, 9pm.’

-

“Fisher residence.”

Sal’s voice sounded different on the phone than in person. 

“Hey.” Travis spoke softly. “Just, uh...did what you asked.” He mentally cursed; he figured he’d been through enough to have earned the right to do that on occasion. In all the time he’d been practicing so many different skills, somehow he’d forgone the one required for interacting with people. However one was supposed to greet a new potential friend over the phone, he was  _ pretty  _ sure this wasn’t it.

“Oh! Hi!” If Sal noticed his lack of social awareness, he didn’t say anything about it, which Travis was grateful for. “I’m glad you called! I hope I’m not putting you out at this time of night; you just seemed so interesting. I...really wanted a chance to get to know you.”

Sal, who’d seemed so outgoing and friendly before, now sounded kind of shy. 

Travis found himself smiling, probably for the first time in...God, how long? “You’re no inconvenience.” That was a lie; he was speaking quietly so that his father wouldn’t overhear him. That was all right, though; this seemed worth potentially getting in trouble for. “I wanted to get to know you, too.”

He could hear a bit of interference with the sound, and Sals voice suddenly sounded much clearer.

“Sorry, I was just moving my phone. That must’ve been really horrible to hear on your end.”

The bell-like laugh made Travis’s heart stutter, and he let a smile overcome himself “No, it’s fine. I can hear you much better.”

Sal laughed again. “I keep laughing, too. That’s pretty weird. Anyway...” He gave a slight cough. “ _ You _ , sir, need to tell me how you’re able to play that viola so beautifully… and if you can do anything else even  _ remotely _ like that….”

Travis gave a slight hum. “I don’t know.”

A small scoff was directed at his answer. “Not good enough!”

Travis pretended to be shocked. “Oh! You wanted the long version.”

Sals smile could be heard through the phone.

“Yes. Please. Tell me all about it.”

Travis couldn’t find a reason not to say no, giving another him before he began the long story, Sal clinging to every word. 


	3. Purple Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis finds his escape from his abusive father as a roadie for an up-and-coming star. Just who is the mysterious Purple Princess?

Travis had finally, _ finally _ sneaked out! 

His father hasn’t even noticed the fact that his beer tasted a bit too salty, or the fact that he felt sleepy right after.

If that Larry guy was any ounce of trustworthy, his dad would be knocked out for a few hours. Enough time for him to find a job to get out of this hellhole!

Not to be mistaken; he had a nice life. Food, clothes, a little bit of love. He should be stoked and ready for adult life, ready to tackle the world!

Only… he  _ wasn’t.  _

He could feel it deep inside his chest; he wasn’t even remotely ready for what the world was going to offer him.

So, he had started planning. 

He would get a job that involved a lot of traveling, get experience, come back, and live the life his dad wanted!

And he knew _ just _ the job, too.

He pulled out the crinkled page, straightening it out until the words became clear.

**_Roadie wanted. Will pay, Purple Princess awaits for their knight!_ **

Travis couldn’t help but grin. Being the knight to an androgynous person who was bisexual? 

His dad would be  _ furious  _ if he knew.

 

He aced the interview and got the job right away. The band was impressed with how much he could lift, his knowledge of electrical things, and his ability to get things and people ready. Who knew a lifetime of church duties could have prepared him for all of this? 

The band was going on the road in a few days; they only had a few more shows to play here, and Travis was looking forward to the trip. The sooner he could get away from Nockfell, the better. 

He didn’t let his eagerness get in the way of his job, of course. In between setting up displays and making sure the instruments were all in good condition, he got to know the members of Purple Princess. Particularly the princess, himself.

His birth name was Sal Fisher, and Travis could immediately see why he was a star; if his music weren’t already fantastic, then his appearance could catch anyone’s eye. He wore his naturally blue hair in pigtails and a rather iconic pink and white mask.

The first time they met in person, Travis may or may not have stared. Just a bit.

“It’s not  _ attached _ to me, you know.” 

That had made Travis blink. The voice that came from behind that mask didn’t match what he was seeing; it was far deeper than he would have expected from such a slight, feminine person.

“E-excuse me?” was all he’d managed.

“The prosthetic.” Sal had tapped on his mask with a painted nail. “I noticed you staring.”

Travis had gulped and torn his eyes away, hoping to hide how his cheeks burned. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

Sal waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it; I’m used to it.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t make it right.” Travis bit his lip immediately after, worried that Sal would become angry with him.

Instead, he tilted his head, giving a small noise of acknowledgment. “You’re right.” 

Travis rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dancing away from Sal whenever they got close.

It wasn’t long before Sal took notice of the silence, and Travis’s behavior.

“It’s okay to look at me when we’re talking.” 

“Oh, well I just...We weren’t talking, so…” Travis’s voice was lilting, and he fiddled with his hands. “I don’t want to be rude.”

There was a smile in Sals voice. “That’s true, too. How about this? We’ll play a game, so we can get to know each other better. We’ll be hanging out pretty often, after all.”

Travis finally focused on Sal, a bit startled by the fact that he could see Sals eyes sparkling from just behind the prosthetic. From a ways away, it simply looked like his eyes were pitch black.

He was surprised to see blue.

He coughed when he realized he hadn’t answered, nodding his head.

“Yeah, we could! But there a couple of things that need to be done--“

Sal grasped Travis’s hand, tugging ever so slightly. “It can be done by somebody else, that’s why there’s so many people working here. Come on.”

Travis couldn’t find any other excuse, being pulled along by the Purple Princess, walking over cables and props, passing by multiple celebrities Travis distinctly remembered.

They finally reached Sals door, the Star being drawn on in thick, black marker, in beautiful handwriting. Sal unlocked the door, opening it and motioning Travis to come in. 

Travis hesitantly took a step into the trailer, glancing around and making a mental note of everything.

The room, naturally, was full of purple-colored objects. A bean bag was shoved into the car corner, near a loveseat that had been meticulously put in. There was a TV in the wall, a table just barely in front of it.

There was a bed on the other end, separated by a messy kitchen. The sheets were purple and there were multitudes of pillows and blankets of varying shades. The bed was separated from everything else by a thin curtain that had dozens of beads, jewelry pieces, gems. 

Clothes were even hung up on one end of the bar, letting Travis know that Sal would be wearing a light purple, off the shoulder sweater dress and deep purple leggings, with thigh high boots and multiple accessories.

Sal hopped onto the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Let’s play.”

Travis blinked. “Are you...coming onto me right now?”

Sal laughed. “No, no.” Travis managed to smile, feeling both relieved and strangely disappointed. “I just figured you might like to talk some place quiet.”

Travis sat down next to Sal. “What kind of game were you thinking?” he asked.

“It’s pretty simple; we take turns telling each other five things about ourselves.” Sal plucked at a thread from the worn sweater he was wearing. Travis was transfixed by the dark purple nail polish he wore. Such a thing would have been unthinkable when he lived with his dad. “You’re new here, so why don’t you go first?”

Uncertain of what else to say, Travis blurted out “My dad’s a piece of shit.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, uh...he was an abusive bigot. It took a lot for me to get away from him and, you know. End up here.” 

He felt a warm weight on his knee. “That’s awful; I’m sorry.” 

Travis gave him a weak smile. It was nice to see that the fame the Purple Princess had been getting hadn’t gone to his head and made him cruel. “Is that the first thing about  _ you?” _ he jokingly asked.

Sal shook his head. “No; the first thing I’m going to tell you about me is why I have to wear my prosthetic.”

Travis blinked. “‘Prosthetic?’ I thought it was a mask. A part of your whole image?”

Sal laughed sadly. “It helps with that, yes. But the  _ actual _ reason I wear it is because a dog attacked me when I was three.”

“Oh shit…” What else was Travis supposed to say?

“Well, that’s not true, exactly; it was a wild dog, and my toddler self probably scared it. I was being dumb; it was just being a dog.” Sal glanced down at his lap. For someone who was now making decent money, his clothing sure was ratty; there were holes in the knees of his worn red jeans. “They wound up putting that dog down. I still feel awful about that.”

Travis shook his head. “Jesus…”

“I’m kind of surprised; there are so many theories out there about why I wear this. You haven’t heard any of them?” 

Travis weakly shrugged. “I mean...you can’t believe everything you read, you know?” 

“Fair enough. Now, what’s the second thing about you?”

Travis wracked his brain for a moment. “Um...Oh, I was brought up Catholic.” That was actually a bit of an understatement; his father had thought literally every potentially fun thing out there was the work of the devil.

“That’s interesting! I went to church a few times as a kid, but my family wasn’t very religious.” Sal cleared his throat. “Er, that’s not the second thing about me...The second thing is that I like video games.”

Travis grinned. His dad would’ve _ hated  _ this guy, and he was having  _ so much fun _ with the thought. “Yeah? Well...my favorite food is fried bologna sandwiches.”

“Good to know; we’ll be sure to keep those at the kraft services tables.” Sal fidgeted before saying “If you ever want to drink alcohol or do other drugs around here, that’s fine, so long as you don’t get so fucked up or hungover you can’t do your job. Just know that I’m not going to have any; my dad’s an alcoholic. Not a bad guy; nowhere near as bad as your dad. But it’s still something I’m scared of having, myself.”

So they were back to the heavy stuff, then. Travis sighed. “My parents are divorced. Mom eventually couldn’t take any more of Dad’s shit and left. She wanted me to come with, but…” He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. He’d been so horrible to her when he learned what she wanted to do. At the very least, he thanked God that he hadn’t made her cry. Unless she did when he wasn’t looking. “I was really shitty to her. Maybe it was because of Dad’s brainwashing, but that still doesn’t make it right.”

Sal’s hand returned to his knee, where it gave a comforting squeeze. “My mom’s dead. She tried to save me from the dog. At first it looked like she got away better than me, but when I woke up after all the surgery and was healed enough to see her, she’d died in her hospital bed.”

They’d just met, and already this young rock star, who Travis had thought might be unapproachable and untouchable, was opening up to him. Hell,  _ he’d _ opened up a lot more than he thought he would; Sal Fisher seemed to have that effect on him.

So, after taking a deep breath, Travis whispered the fifth and final thing about him: “I’m gay.” 

“I’m not mentally well; I take meds for anxiety and depression and chronic headaches. The therapists I’ve been to over the years say they’re sure I have PTSD. And besides all that, I...well, sometimes I see things that other people don’t.” He slowly looked into Travis’s eyes. “Are you scared?” His voice was so tiny that Travis barely heard it, despite how quiet the dressing room was.

Travis thought about his father, whose idea of love involved fists and belts. He thought of his church community, polite on the outside but judgmental on the inside. Finally, he said “Princess, you’ve got to be the least scary person I’ve ever met in my life.”


	4. Spoiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sal is psychic and can see auras. Those of one person, in particular, catch his attention.

Ever since he was little, Sal Fisher had seen things that other people couldn’t. One of his earliest memories was of a translucent reddish squirrel running through the street. Another was of his mother asking him about a drawing he was making when he was two.

“It’s you an’ me an’ Daddy!” he’d exclaimed, proud of the stick figures he’d crudely scrawled on the paper.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she’d said with a warm smile. “I love the colors you used!”

He’d scrawled himself and his father with blue crayon and his mother with brown. Around his dad, he’d scribbled bright yellow underneath a soft green; around his mom, he’d scribbled light blue and a pinkish red he’d thought was pretty. “They’re  _ your  _ colors!” he’d exclaimed proudly.

“They’re pretty, but why don’t you have any colors around you?”

Sal remembered shrugging. “Never seen ‘em; dunno what they are.”

She’d smiled and nodded, though he suspected that she took his other talk of imaginary friends and colors he’d see around people more seriously than his father. A short while before the incident with the dog, he overheard her telling him “Maybe he’s a medium.” Which had confused his toddler brain at the time; he wasn’t medium, he was small. He was the littlest person he knew! His mommy was silly, he’d decided.

Sal’s father hadn’t wanted to hear it when he told him he saw her twice in her hospital room, one lying still in the bed, the other standing in her hospital gown. 

Sal continued seeing these things all his life; over time, he learned to use them to his advantage. Nearly every person that he met had auras; while he hadn’t yet learned what every single color out there meant, he started to recognize patterns. 

People with warmer colors on the outside tended to be more outgoing; people with cooler colors tended to keep to themselves. The brighter and more noticeable the colors were, the more volatile they tended to be. Darker colors showed hidden depth.

His first truly horrible experience with a person happened in middle school. His best friend from that time was a tall, pretty girl named Heather. 

Before he noticed her bright smile full of perfect straight white teeth and her soft, shiny hair, he noticed her aura. There was a pleasant pastel pink on the outside, but underneath that was a dark, yellowish green that reminded him of vomit.

He honestly hadn’t noticed it, in the beginning. He just knew something was off with the way Heather was treating him. 

She would be elegant, nice, the perfect princess when the eyes of teachers and others were on her. But the moment they were off of her, she would begin to treat Sal as if he was something less than human. Like he owed her for being her friend. Days would pass where she wouldn’t talk to him, but the moment he seemed to be moving on, she’d draw him back in with false promises.

There was a day  when her aura….  _ changed.  _

It was new to Sal. Never before had he seen someone’s aura change so quickly or so badly as hers had. 

He just knew that he’d been talking to someone, refusing to put his conversation on hold just for her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pukey-green color slowly getting bigger.

When he’d turned, he noticed that Heather’s aura had been taken over by this gross color, overwhelming any others. 

That’s when the screaming started. She accused him of so many things, letting everyone see what her true colors were. 

He wasn’t sure what happened to her. He just knew he never saw her again afterwards. 

He decided that day what puke-green was: jealousy, mixed with rage. 

He learned his lesson that day. He avoided making friends with anyone that had that green in their aura. 

It wasn’t hard using his ‘powers’ to make friends. After he and his dad moved to Addison Apartments, he met Larry, who had a deep blue inner aura, and a lovely purple outer aura. Sal correctly interpreted this as Larry holding sadness in him, but remaining calm, collected on the outside. 

After Larry came Ash, with her bright yellow aura and a soft orange that danced on the edges. Passionate, bright.

Todd, an aura as green as grass with thin stripes of silver. Very smart, flexible. Kind.

Neil had lovely complimentary colors, so it was no surprise to Sal when they started dating.

Chug was always bold, and upfront, so Sal didn’t even need to look at his aura to tell which kind of person he was. 

Maple had cool colors, showing that she didn’t get frazzled by much. 

Sal could never have been happier with the group of friends he’d made. 

Of course, that didn’t mean things were perfect. Just like before, there were people Sal realized weren’t who they said they were; Phillip was a popular kid a year older than him with earrings and hair as blue as his. He seemed easy-going at first, but Sal was wary of his sickly pale yellow under-aura. That meant he was a liar and a flake. Mrs. Packerton, one of the math teachers, seemed like a sweet little old lady at first, but her auras threw him for a loop: pure white gave way to a strange muted red. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Different place, same story; people who pretended to be nice when they were rotten on the inside. 

Then something curious happened at the start of Sophomore year. Sal got up to introduce himself on the first day of Creative Writing class. As he spoke, he looked at the staring eyes of his classmates for the rest of the year. One, in particular, caught his attention; the glaring dark eyes that caught his own belonged to a tall, dark-skinned, blond boy. 

He nearly stopped talking so he could do a double-take. The boy’s outer aura was a harsh, angry orange-red that gave way to a deep, dark, melancholy greenish-blue that reminded Sal of fading bruises. 

Again, Sal wasn’t fully sure what it meant; he just knew that it had been a long time since he’d seen an aura like that on anyone.

It didn’t take long for Sal to figure out the boy’s name: Travis. Travis Phelps, to be more specific.

It seemed, sadly, that Travis didn’t like Sal. 

Which was upsetting, considering that he wanted to be Travis’s friend. He began to try every trick he could think of to get closer to Travis; sitting next to him in classes, inviting him to hang out and to sit with him at lunch, suggesting they go out to eat or see a movie.

But nothing seemed to work. Travis still seemed to hate him, kept pushing him away and yelling at him. But that didn’t mean he was pure evil.

Sal saw the teal pulse, going from a small, hidden part of Travis to a part that was just barely on the surface.

Travis stopped calling him names. He allowed Sal to take his hand and mess with it. 

But he never sat at the same table as him.

At least, not until the day before winter break, when Travis say down in front of Sal, his aura completely teal.

Larry and Ash were on the defense, their auras suddenly being tinted with red. They didn’t like Travis and they made it known by insulting him. Sal shushed them, smiling as he slowly grasped the sleeve of Travis’s purple hoodie that he wore that day. 

“Hey Travis.” He mocked the way Travis used to say his name, stretching it out. Sometimes he wished Travis could see the smile that stretched under his prosthetic. 

“Hey Saaaaal.” Travis gave Sal a shaky smile.


	5. Rundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis is a spy, and he's just been assigned a partner for an upcoming mission, much against his will.

The tie around Travis’s neck seemed to be tightening. He didn’t understand why; he’d been up against worse. Possible aliens, people who murdered thousands, assassins coming for his head. 

For fucks sake, he was a secret agent, not a wimp!

But now, sitting in a room with nothing but a steel table with a chair across from him, he felt fear fill his chest.

In the beginning, when he’d run from home and gotten this job, he demanded to work alone. He didn’t want to be under anyone’s control but his bosses.

This term was agreed to, and it had been several years since…. but now, at 24, they were asking him to take on a partner.

“He may be a little strange,” his boss had said with a calm demeanor. “Something happened when he was younger, and he no longer looks like an average human. I want you to pretend that you don’t see anything amiss, and if you make him feel out of place, we can, and will, get rid of you.”

Travis felt as if his stomach had dropped at those words.

A partner? Why  _ now? _ It was too late for a partner! And the stupid assignment wasn’t even that big of a deal to warrant the hiring of someone else. 

The door creaked open, snapping Travis out of his thoughts.

His immediate thought was “How the Hell did this guy become a spy?” People in this line of work had to rely on disguising themselves and blending into the crowd; they couldn’t draw attention to themselves. There was no way in Hell that blue hair and eerie mask would blend in anywhere.

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Travis wanted to ask. He remembered his boss’s words, though, and how capable he was of making them come true. So he settled for a hard scowl as he peered through the guy’s eye holes.

“Sal Fisher?” he asked. 

The guy nodded. Travis wondered if his boss had somehow made a mistake when he’d told him his partner was a man; if his five-foot-two height hadn’t thrown him off, the long hair definitely would have.

But then he spoke in a deep, slightly raspy voice. “That’s right. And you’re Travis Phelps?” He held out his hand, clearly hoping for a handshake.

Travis didn’t give him one. “That’s right; we’ve been assigned to work together.”

Sal tilted his head, giving Travis the impression that he realized how unhappy he was with the situation. Rather than call him out on it, though, he said “I look forward to it.”

 

_ Fuck, fuck,  _ **_fuck!_ ** Of fucking  _ course _ the assignment turned out to be much bigger the first time he and Sal worked together.

The stupid statue, and the stupid  _ cult  _ that took it ended up getting in a gunfight with the agents, with said two agents hiding behind a massive crate as the statue turned against its summoners.

Sal pretended he couldn’t hear the screaming, the booms that seemed to shake he building to its very core, or the bright flashes of light. Instead, he focused on Travis, and his tired face with the 5 o’clock shadow.

Sal took a deep breath, giving a small ‘fuck it’ as he decided he wanted to do this before he ended up dead.

“Travis?!” He felt the need to shout, a high pitch erupting from the statuette as the cult tried to banish it back.

“Yeah?! Kinda busy trying to not die here!” Travis snapped, glancing up for a brief second before putting his head back down.

“I have something to tell you, in case we end up actually surviving this.” Sal pressed himself against the wood as another explosion send debris flying over their heads. 

“What would that be?!” 

Sal shoved his prosthetic over his face, allowing him to grab Travis and give him a desperate kiss.

Despite his original thoughts that Travis may pull away in disgust, he instead held him closer, digging his hands into Sals hair. When they pulled away, Sal huffed.

“If we survive, I’ll take you to get coffee!” 

Travis, for the first time, cracked a smile. “If we survive, you owe me more kisses like that.” 

With that, Sal risked glancing over the crate and taking one more shot. Luck was apparently on their side; it didn’t land in any of the cultists’ craniums, but at a stone pillar behind them. The thing had been old, apparently, because that one perfectly aimed, perfectly timed bullet made the thing crumble to the ground. It took out a few of the cultists and landed on top of the statue; not permanently stopping it, Sal figured, but at least stopping it for the time being.

He and Travis didn’t waste time in running to the circle and pulling the relic that had been used in the summoning from its groove. 

As the dust cleared, Sal stood there holding the relic as Travis took out one of the remaining cultists. 

Maybe they were dirty and scraped up, but overall, he would’ve called this case a success.

-

“What do you think?”

Travis pursed his lips as he glanced around the coffee shop. It was small and cozy. “I think this place is more underwhelming than you’d led me to believe.”

Sal laughed. “Well, that’s not fair; after what we just went through,  _ anything _ would be underwhelming.”

Travis smiled at that. He had a point; this job came with a lot of excitement, to be sure. If anything, this was a rarity for him; a quiet date at an unassuming coffee house, wearing civvies. 

He took a sip from the mug, and his eyes went wide. Judging by the way Sal’s lower eyelids scrunched up, that was the reaction he’d been looking for. “ _ This _ isn’t, though.” That was an understatement; it had to be the best cup of coffee he’d had in a long time.

“Didn’t I tell you? Best coffee in town!” Travis felt one of Sal’s feet brush against his own. 

_ To think I didn’t want a partner, _ Travis thought. He made a mental note to thank his boss next time he went into work.


	6. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal makes pizza while his husband's at work. A whole mess of cheese puns ensues.
> 
> Or: pure, domestic fluff.

For once in his life, Sal Phelps was tempted to thank God for the wonderful thing that is called a day off. 

He had few, and they were always far between, but when he did, he felt almost as religious as Travis did on a daily basis.

For once, he got to make what he wanted instead of fucking soup fourth-seven times a day.

Travis, sadly enough, had to go into work still; an on-call construction worker never really had a day off. 

Now Sal stood in the kitchen, debating on what he wanted for lunch that day. 

Ramen? No. He and Travis ate too much of that yesterday.

Mac n cheese? Sal didn’t feel like standing by the pot.

Sandwiches? No, he promised Travis he wouldn’t eat any sandwiches without him today. 

Finally, Sal came up with an idea; pizza! 

He never really thought of it until now due to the fact that Travis and Sal hardly ever ate pizza. They usually avoided it like the plague. 

Now that Travis was at work, and may be for a good while longer, Sal could maybe cook up a pizza and eat it before Travis got home.

He started by preheating the oven before retrieving one of the frozen pizzas they had in their freezer. This particular brand had light cheese and heavy sauce; the other way around would make Travis vomit. He still wouldn’t like the pizza as it was, but if he got home early, he’d at least be able to stomach it.

Sal was determined to make it more than just ‘tolerable,’ though. Thankfully they had extra ingredients laying around. He finely minced some Poblano peppers and yellow onions, which he sprinkled on alongside some spicy sausage.

The smell of the baking pizza filled the apartment. Even Travis had admitted that it made the apartment floor smell nice. 

He felt bad about eating his dinner without his husband, but he couldn’t ignore his protesting stomach any longer. 

He was on his third slice when Travis walked in. “Smells good!” he called. 

Sal grinned. “I hope you like it!” he said. “My cooking has never been feta!”

Travis choked out surprised laughter. “What?” he asked. It warmed Sal’s heart to see the huge grin on his husband’s face. 

“You didn’t hear me?” he asked, giggling. “You must brie losing your hearing!”

“Oh my God,” snorted Travis.  _ “This _ is what I’m married to.” From his tone of voice, Sal knew he was still joking.

Sal could hear the heavy thuds of Travis’s boots, raising his arms when Travis was looking back at him and waving for him to come closer. 

“I’m Gouda go crazy if you don’t give me my welcome home kiss.” He pouted.

Travis chuckled and went over to him, tossing his jacket onto the loveseat and his overshirt onto the coffee table. He had to stoop down to scoop up his husband, who stubbornly refused to sit up from his spot. 

“How dare you steal my spot.” Sal pretended to be offended. “And here I thought you were a-“

“Don’t-“ 

“Saint Rose.” Sal erupted into giggles once more, Travis taking him down with him as he collapsed onto the couch. 

“I leave you alone for half a day and you turn against me by making cheese puns.” He linked his hand with Sals, the former squirming to the point that he laid facing Travis, 

“Well, call me a bit crusty, but I saved you the bread. That counts for something, right?” He purred, smiling.

Travis snorted. “So long as I can have a pizza you, we’ll be fine. Consider everything per-mansion”

Sal was overcome with giggles, hiding his face into Travis’s chest. 

Travis nabbed a piece of the crust, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Some days I wonder.” 

Sal watched as Travis dipped the piece of crust in some of the sauce that had managed to escape onto the plate before popping it into his mouth. 

“What do you wonder?” Sal asked teasingly. 

Travis rubbed Sal’s upper arm firmly. “If this is what you do when you’re here without me. Come up with cheese puns?”

Sal snorted and elbowed Travis lightly in the ribs. “What  _ else  _ would I do? Something  _ productive? _ Please.” 

Travis smiled but didn’t say anything, since his mouth was full of another bite of crust. 

Sal thought about how strange he’d found it back in high school; a teenaged boy who didn’t like pizza. It hadn’t been the strangest thing he’d seen, by far, but it ranked up there.

Then they’d gotten to know each other. Travis had learned, on one of their hang-out sessions, that Sal loved pizza but wouldn’t eat the crust. To which he’d confessed that he liked the crusts, but hated the rest of the slice.

Sal had heard about the Martini-Olive theory, but he hated olives and stayed away from alcohol.  _ This _ was a far more accurate theory, he decided. 

“So, hey, there’s still plenty of pizza left,” Sal said. “But if you’re not feeling that, or just the crusts, that’s fine; I can make someth--”

“Oh, uh…” Travis swallowed before he continued. “I actually ate already. It was someone’s birthday, and they brought sub sandwiches.”

Sal felt a surge of relief. He was tired; he hadn’t  _ really _ been in the mood to cook anything else. Still in a silly, giggly mood, he said  _ “What? _ You ate sandwiches  _ without me?” _ He placed the back of his wrist across his eyes in a melodramatic fashion. “Betrayal! Heartache! I spent  _ all day  _ slaving over a hot stove  _ for nothing!” _

Travis burst out laughing yet again. Sal couldn’t keep up the facade; he smiled at the sound. “Aw, not for  _ nothing, _ ya drama queen,” he said, voice dripping with affection. “It was nice, coming home to this.” He wiggled the bite-sized piece of pizza crust he had left.

Sal leaned his head against Travis’s shoulder, smiling. “I’m glad.”


	7. Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis is in desperate need of a math tutor. 
> 
> Three guesses for who said tutor winds up being; first two don't count.

Travis’s heart sank as he looked at the test he’d just been handed back. He’d just barely gotten a D.

Sadness and disappointment quickly turned to anger, something he found himself becoming more and more familiar with lately. He’d actually _ studied _ this time, damn it! Why couldn’t he seem to get this right? 

He crumpled the test in his hands and glared helplessly at the notebook on his desk. He’d spent hours memorizing all the formulas last night. 

_ Fat load of good it did me, _ he thought bitterly.

On top of the shame and failure he was already feeling, there was the fact that his dad would  _ kill _ him if he knew his son was failing this class. It wouldn’t matter to him that Travis wasn’t slacking off but struggling; marks like these would simply be unacceptable.

Knowing what would happen if his father found out, Travis made a decision.

_ I’m going to need a tutor. _

He practically dragged his feet as he went down the small aisle after class was released, heading to their replacement teacher, Mrs. Valentine. 

The young woman glanced up, folding her hands together as she smiled. 

“Hello, Travis. How can I help you?”

He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. “We both know I’m not doing very well in the class… and really, I’m trying… but…” 

He sighed, glancing down.

Mrs. Valentine set down her red pen, focusing all of her attention on him. “Would you like a tutor?”

He nodded slightly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Travis, you’d never be trouble for me. The fact that you’re asking for help is a good sign in my eyes.”

She wrote something down on a sticky note, handing it over to him as the bell rang. “Just go to the library at 4 pm and your new tutor will meet you there. I’m sure you two will work well together.”

Travis nodded again, taking the sticky note and thanking her. He felt the need to rush out of the room, clutching his things like a lifeline. He was in such a rush that he hardly noticed that Sal wasn’t even in the lunchroom to bother him that day.

 

His father was going to be late that night, so hopefully he would never have to know that his son had stayed after school. 

The thought gave Travis little relief as he sat at a table in the corner of the school library. There was a part of him that was still deeply ashamed; he shouldn’t have _ had _ to resort to this. He wouldn’t have to be here if he weren’t so stupid and incompetent. 

He doodled in the margins of his notebook to pass the time until his tutor showed up. He grew so interested in what he was doing that he jumped at the sound of the chair next to him being pulled out.

“Hey, Travis!”

Travis instinctively glared at the sound of the voice. It became genuine when he realized what this meant.

“You’re my tutor.” God was testing him. There could be no other explanation. 

Sal nodded. “That’s right!”

“And why are  _ you _ tutoring?” Travis sneered, unable to help himself.

Sal tilted his head a bit, the pigtails bobbing slightly as he spoke. “Mrs. Valentine asked me to. She said I was one of the best in the class, but I was dumb enough to put it in ‘teenager terms’, as she put it.”

Travis was about to cut in with a ‘Well aren’t  _ you  _ special’ when Sal spoke up again.

“I don’t think I’m very good at math. I actually study really hard to make sure I pass tests.” His eyes closed, showing that he was smiling. 

Travis frowned, tapping his foot. “Well, let’s hurry. I can’t have my dad knowing I need tutoring.”

Sal nodded. “What do you want to go over first?”

Travis huffed. “Aren’t you the tutor? You decide.”

Sal hummed, giving Travis a side glance. “Alright… I suppose we can start at the beginning.”

 

It had been an hour and they’d gotten  _ nothing _ done. 

Despite Sal being patient and kind the entire time, Travis kept snapping at him, forcing them to slow down or to explain something simple in even more detail. 

He didn’t understand what was going on with himself. He understood some of the material! But he kept asking Sal about this, or that. 

Maybe it was the way that Sal kept moving his hand over Travis’s to point something out, his wrist brushing against the back of Travis’s hand and making him still. 

Maybe it was the shining sun that was highlighting Sal’s hair, making it seem a shade lighter.

Travis found himself staring more than once already. He was so busy keeping himself from staring at Sal that he didn’t even notice when the sun began to sink.

“You’re doing great, Travis,” Sal was saying. 

Travis could only scoff. “Yeah, right.” 

Sal shook his head; his waving pigtails caught the pale light. Travis looked down at his paper to avoid staring. “I’m serious; you’ve got the basic understanding of the material, and I can see it.”

“Then why are we here right now?” Travis burst out. “If I understand it, why do I need a tutor?” He realized that frustrated tears had gathered at the corners of his eyes. He absently prayed that Sal didn’t see them. 

“Maybe the teacher just isn’t explaining it in a way that you, personally, understand,” Sal said patiently. “Maybe you get anxiety from taking tests. There’s a lot of reasons you might be struggling right now.”  _ ‘Struggling,’  _ he’d said; not ‘slacking off.’ “You’re not stupid, Travis; I’ve  _ met  _ stupid people before. I know what I’m talking about.”

Travis was pretty sure Sal pretended not to see him turn his head to wipe his eyes on his left shoulder. “Yeah, well...at least  _ one _ of us thinks that.”

“We’ll keep working on it.” Travis wanted Sal’s gentle tone to make him angry, but it didn’t. He didn’t feel like he was being talked down to. “For now, though, I think you’ve had enough.”

It was only then that Travis looked outside the window to see that the sky was painted in soft bands of purple, red, and orange.

“Shit…”

Sal glanced up, noticing now the colors that painted the sky. 

“Oh, you need to get home. Will you need someone to walk you? I can if you want me to.” He gathered his things, not looking over at Travis.

Once more, Travis wanted to be furious, angry beyond belief. He wanted to scream and shout and…. yet he felt relieved. He felt that he could breathe.

“Uh..” he cleared his throat. “Yes, please. Just… lets keep the tutoring on the down low, okay?” he rubbed the back of his neck, glaring at the ground.

Sal hummed, indicating a smile. “Deal. Do we need a cover story?”

“Probably.” Travis shrugged, gathering his own things and shoving them into his backpack. 

The pair left the library, Sal having to speed walk in order to keep up with Travis. 

“If my dad asks,” the blonde haired boy began. “We were talking about Jesus.”

“You were trying to convert me,” Sal joined in. “It might be working.”

Travis paused, having to wonder just what Sal meant by that. Sal turned back to face him, starkly contrasted by all the warm colors that surrounded him. 

“Well?” Sal took a step back. “Are we gonna go? Or do you wanna hang out in the middle of a random dirt road?” 

Travis hesitated, feeling words bubble at his lips.

About a dozen quips were on his tongue, all of them at least somewhat sharp. 

What he  _ actually  _ said was “Yeah, okay. Come on…”

The two boys walked in relative silence. Every once in a while Travis would glance at Sal; the setting sun cast orange light on his prosthetic. 

His secret hopes that no one would be there to greet him were dashed. He made to put his key in the lock of his front door, but it opened, nearly hitting him in the face. There was his father, larger than life, with a stony glare on his face. “Where were you?” He didn’t sound as angry as he might have at other times; Travis suspected that it was because another person was with him. 

Before he could say anything, Sal piped up. “I’m so sorry, Sir; we got to talking about your religion. It’s so fascinating!”

Travis’s father didn’t stop glaring, though the look on his face did soften a bit. “Is that so?” he asked, not sounding convinced.

Travis quickly nodded. “Yes! In fact, I convinced him to come to our church on Sunday!” He turned to Sal with a desperate, pleading look. 

“Uh…” Sal blinked at him before turning back to his father. “Yeah! Yes, that’s right! I’ll be there.” 

Travis’s father stared at the two of them for what felt like an eternity before he nodded. “All right then. Very good.” 

Just as Travis sighed a breath of relief, he froze as Sal put a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t wait! See you then, Travis!” he said.

Travis managed a grateful smile. “Yeah. See you, then.” He was pretty sure a single look couldn’t really tell Sal just how thankful he was for everything he’d done for him that evening, but he figured it would do for now.


	8. Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young boy makes an important change during a desperate time, and receives support from an unlikely place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written ENTIRELY by Ball-Jointed-Dragon.

Travis stared himself down in the mirror, hating every part of what he saw. The long hair, the too-wide eyes, one of them black after the daily beating that his father, once again, saw fit to give him. 

He kept his gaze moving, knowing the horrible, stabbing pain he would feel in his heart if he kept his eyes on something for too long. 

The ugly pink sweater, the way he wasn’t flat chested, the skirt that felt as if it were cardboard. 

Tears filled his eyes, and makeup ran down his face.

Makeup. He fucking  _ hated  _ it. It ran whenever it got wet, and his dad was always ready to point the blame at him being a ‘woman’. 

Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t and he never wanted to be, but here he was, with the stupid fucking  _ hair- _

Sudden fury filled him, and he dug around in the backpack he’d taken with him when he’d bolted from the classroom. It seemed to take forever, but he found what he wanted.

_ Scissors.  _

With triumphant glee, he took the scissors to his hair, hacking and cutting and making it as short as he could. He didn’t think about what his father would do when he got home, not about how his peers would look at him. 

Instead, he cut and cut, the hair falling into the sink in long waves. 

It took moments, but soon Travis looked into the mirror at a better scene. 

Now, he had what seemed to be a short scruffy mane of hair. 

_ It’s not what I want. _

What did he want? He just wanted to look how he wanted! He wanted to be happy, dammit!

He did everything he could, then. He wiped off his makeup, threw out the hair accessories he’d been forced to wear. He couldn’t do much about the chest, or the skirt-

He tensed, whirling around as the bathroom door opened. His hands clenched the edge of the sink, hands scrambling for the scissors. 

Instead of one of the bullies walking in as he’d feared, Sal Fisher walked in.

Travis wasn’t sure if he was happy about it until Sal spotted him, and went over. 

“Travis! There you are! “ Tears, happy ones now, fell down Travis’s cheek.  _ He used my name.  _  “I was worried. You got up and just.. Bolted…” 

Sal finally took into account for what he saw before him. Travis, uneven and choppy hair, mussed up clothes. Clear marks of where Travis had scrubbed at his face to get at the makeup. Sal took this all in silently, noting how tense Travis seemed to be. 

“Can I help?” Sal looked at Travis, motioning to the scissors.

Travis hesitated. Help? What could he help with?

“... I guess.”

Sal nodded. “If you want, we can trade. I can wear the skirt and you can wear the pants.”

Travis stared at Sal with wide eyes. “...how did you…”

“I know body language pretty well…” Sal shrugged. “I… kinda had to learn.”

Travis only paused for another moment before going into a stall, Sal slipping his pants off and slipping them under the door. Travis took the pants and gave Sal his skirt, shuffling into the pants. They were a bit baggy - why, however, he didn’t know, considering how small Sal was. 

He felt elated when he was wearing the pants, cracking a smile for the first time in months. 

He stepped out of the bathroom, going over to Sal, who held the scissors. 

“You look handsome! Much more comfortable, right?” Sal’s head tilted, eyes sparkling. 

“Yeah, it really does..” Travis smiled. 

Sal had cleaned up the sink, and made it into a mock-hairdressers. “I’m gonna fix your hair, okay?”

Travis felt his shoulders slump, smiling. “Please do.”

For the next half hour, they stayed in the bathroom, Sal using the scissors to cut as close to Travis’s scalp as he could. When Travis had seen the short hair, he’d burst into happy tears, elated at the image that met him.

It felt much more ‘him’ than ‘Trinity’s’. 

As much as he wanted to stay happy, he realized very quickly what situation he’d put himself into. 

“Oh, God… where am I gonna stay?” he leaned into the mirror, breathing deeply. 

Sal piped up again. “You can stay with me, if there’s any problems. Just give me a heads up, okay?”

Travis brushed himself off, standing up straight. He turned to face Sal, and grimaced. 

“Heads up.”


	9. Rockstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Adventure Time AU no one asked for but is getting now.
> 
> Prince Travis of the Candy Kingdom realizes, with dread, that there's only one person available to put on a show for his people...his ex, Sal the vampire King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written entirely by me.
> 
> Apologies for the lateness on this one.

Travis smiled at the sight of his loyal butler. “Peppermint Butler! What’s the word?”

The tiny striped candy bowed before him. Not that the hierarchy among the prince’s court mattered much; Peppermint Butler was the real backbone of this kingdom. He’d seen the prince at his absolute worst on more than one occasion; titles hardly mattered when two beings shared that connection. “Several musicians over Ooo have been contacted, Your Highness,” he said in his squeaky voice. 

Travis nodded, pleased. “Very good. Have any responded?”

Peppermint Butler frowned. “I’m afraid not, Prince Phelps.”

Travis frowned. “None of them are available? You’re certain?” He thought longingly of the heroine Ashley and her adopted brother Gizmo, the magical stretching cat. They were usually up for any sort of challenge; they must have been busy, if they couldn’t perform. He thought of Chug and Maple, a married couple from the Breakfast Kingdom, and Prince Johnson from the Undead Kingdom.

He couldn’t think of any other options. “Oh, dear,” he sighed. He put his finger tips against his pale pink bangs; usually they were neatly tucked behind his ears, but the stress had been getting to him lately, so his thick, sticky hair was a mess around his dark magenta face. “What a disaster. Would it be at all possible to reschedule the concert?” 

It was a stupid question. Peppermint Butler didn’t have to tell him so, though Travis was certain he gladly would if he could. Travis’s schedule was so impossibly busy that the time slot he’d planned for the concert would be the only one available for weeks. 

“If I may, Your Majesty…” The peppermint got up on the stool at Travis’s vanity so that he could look the candy prince in the eye. “You haven’t exhausted  _ all _ your options.”

Travis stared at his butler, suddenly remembering just how evil he could be. “You don’t mean…?”

Peppermint Butler gave him a hard stare. “I do.”

Travis groaned. 

His ex was going to have a  _ field day  _ with this.

 

“Hello, Traaaaavis.” The vampire king wiggled his gloved fingers at the candy prince. 

Travis huffed. “Sally.” The sun was just beginning to set over the stage, which meant that Sal was fully covered up. Except for his eyes, which peeked out mischievously from his mask. “Thank you, again, for agreeing to this.” Whatever past history they had didn’t matter right now; Travis was determined to stay professional for the sake of his loyal kingdom. 

Sal shook his head, making the locks of hair escaping from his hood wave in the wind. Travis wondered if those were a part of his vampire powers; always having his own personal airwave to make his hair and clothing sway majestically.

It annoyed Travis to no end that he still found it attractive.

“Formal as always, Your Highness.” Sal’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and despite how determined Travis had been not to let him get under his skin, he still found himself bristling. 

“I’m being professional, Sal; something  _ you _ wouldn’t know anything about,” he said, clipped.

“Please; no one’s here. None of your little subjects are gonna know that you’re an actual person with feelings.”

It took Travis every technique he’d learned in his hundreds of years of existence not to explode at Sal. “We don’t have time for this,” he said through grit teeth. “The show is in an hour. Please tell me you have something planned.”

“Eh, you know me; I was just gonna wing it,” Sal said with a shrug, strumming a chord on his guitar.

Travis was about ready to rip out handfuls of his hair. “Seriously?” he cried.

Sal just laughed. “I mean that I’ve got some things planned, just not fully hammered out.” To prove his point, he played a melody on his guitar that did, in fact, sound like he’d been working on it. “Thought you’d have learned by now, Prince; you can’t plan for every little thing.”

“No, but there are times when it’s better to be donkin’ prepared!” Travis spat, finally losing his cool. 

Sal hovered over to him, at least a foot off the ground so they could look each other in the eye. Travis’s heart rate increased; he’d forgotten what an intense shade of blue Sal’s remaining eye was. “Is that why you used to be so controlling?” Sal’s voice was now dangerously low. “Because you were trying to prepare us for something?”

Travis tried to regain his composure. Under the circumstances, he was pretty sure he was doing fairly well. “Better than never taking anything seriously,” he retorted.  _ Better than never taking  _ me _ seriously _ , he thought; it felt like Sal never truly understood what duties Travis had. An entire kingdom of sweet but naive citizens depended on him; his job came first.

Why had Sal never gotten that?

Sal looked like he was about to say something, but then stopped and sighed. “You’re right; we don’t have time for this. Why don’t you go do your prince thing? I’m gonna practice.”

Before Travis could continue the argument, Sal flew behind the stage’s curtains. Travis heard a guitar being strummed and low humming in Sal’s lovely deep voice.

Despite all the tension, Travis was still genuinely grateful to Sal for doing this. And he had to admit; the vampire king certainly hadn’t lost his musical touch.

  
  


Prince Phelps started the concert with all the politeness and enthusiasm that his role required. He was almost positive no one in the cheering audience could tell that there was any sort of bad blood between their ruler and the man who was about to perform for them.

Sal had always known how to put on a great show. From the first chord he strummed, he had them eating out of the palm of his cold, clammy hand; his deep, slightly raspy voice was perfectly suited for the dark lyrics coming from his fanged mouth.

Travis couldn’t help but remember when they’d been on much better terms. They were so much alike; they tried to stay guarded, not let their emotions get the better of them, though for different reasons. Even now, some of Travis’s best memories were of Sal opening up to him, showing him his soft, vulnerable side. 

It often showed in his music. Travis wasn’t certain how many other people Sal allowed to hear him compose, though he liked to think that he was one of the few. He remembered, when he hadn’t quite yet realized that the carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, spending nights with Sal. Those nights, it had just been the two of them, Travis listening intently as Sal worked out lyric placements and which harmony would work best. 

He still remembered the song Sal had written just for him by heart. Travis was so lost in memory, he could have sworn that he could hear the first notes of it.

The first notes of...their song…

“Son of a…” he whispered to himself. “He’s not…”

Indeed, Sal was performing their song. 

For the first verses of the song, Prince Phelps stood there gaping like a gummy fish. By the time Sal reached the refrain, he was fuming.

_ Stupid Sal, _ he thought to himself.  _ Stupid Sal and his stupid talent and his stupid elegant grace and his stupid  _ stupid _ beauty… _

The vampire king ended the song by blowing a kiss right in the prince’s direction.


	10. Snowmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal and Travis decide to have some fun. What could possibly go wrong?

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be doing this…?” Travis’s voice was wobbling, nervous. 

He kept glancing around here and there, arms full of snowballs that were slowly being mushed into one giant snowball.

Sal popped his head up from behind a giant snowman, his eyes bright. “Of course it’s fine! We’re just building snowmen.”

“We’re building snowmen near a government facility; I’m not sure if you saw that when we were on our way here.” Travis scoffed, annoyed at Sal brushing his concerns off so easily. 

“There’s no law against building snowmen.” Sal went over to Travis, pinching the tip of Travis’s nose before he continued to grab the huge snowball from Travis’s hands, going back to the snowman.

He was careful to balance on a pile of snow as he shoved the snowball on top of the two other snowballs. 

“Travis!” Sal barely glanced over to him as he fixed the snowball.

“Yeah?” he squinted up at him, frowning a bit as the sun glared into his eyes.

“Make a bunch of tiny snowmen around this one!” Sal sounded so excited. “A tiny army of snowmen! Please?”

Travis folded his arms. “No. I don’t wanna get into any more trouble than you’re putting me in.”

Sal hopped down, the head attached to the snowman. 

Travis tensed a bit, still unused to Sal being so close to him. Sal gently placed a hand on the blond’s chest, leaning in close. 

“For every tiny snowman you make, I’ll give you a kiss.” 

Travis shoved himself away, face red. “If I make them, will you  _ not  _ do that again?!”

Sal let out a giggle, returning to the large snowman. “Yes.”

Travis sighed, starting to make the many snowmen that would surround the huge one. The grey-eyed boy wondered why he was so disappointed then. 

As Travis diligently worked, Sal tended to the large snowman in the middle. Travis had been expecting something traditional; he’d assumed that the contents of Sal’s old blue backpack would be coal and carrots, possibly an old top hat or two.

When he looked up from his work, though, he had to do a double take. Sal had dug two holes for eyes and filled them up with some greasy-looking black substance. Now he was letting fake blood drip from the two holes. 

“Sal,” Travis said. “What the Hell?”

Sal just held a gloved finger to the mouth of his prosthetic. “Shhh,” he gently hushed. “Just sit back and watch my vision take place…”

Travis rolled his eyes and went back to work.

It felt like only minutes before the two of them were standing back, admiring their handiwork. Sal had sculpted two horns at the top of the big snowman’s head, and the way he’d set the thing’s mouth up made it look like it had a mouth full of gnashing sharp teeth. Travis hadn’t even realized it when he was doing it, but he’d had all the tiny snowmen face the big snowman in the middle. The scene looked like a tiny snowy cult worshipping a snowy wrathful god.

“I have to hand it to you, Sal,” Travis said, wrapping an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “I had a lot of fun with this.”

“See? I told you it was a good idea!”

Naturally, it was right then that the two of them heard police sirens.

 

Maple huffed as she got out of the car, being mindful of her baby bump. She was five months along;  _ only four more months of this _ , she reminded herself, as she made her way into the building.

There were Sal and Travis, chatting and laughing as though they  _ weren’t  _ sitting in a holding cell. 

Shaking her head, she quietly spoke to the officer in charge. She could have sworn that the man also looked incredibly amused but was trying to hide it.

Sal and Travis continued to chat as they all walked back to Maple’s car. “I hope you two appreciate this,” she said as she turned her key in the ignition. “I’ll remind you, I’m five months pregnant. My daughter’s probably sucking her thumb in my womb as we speak.” As a busy teenager in AP high school classes, she’d been convinced that she would never be that tired again. That was before Chug had given her a little girl.

The two men at least had the common decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, May,” said Sal. “I just knew no one else would be available to call right now.” 

Maple felt a little pleased at that. She’d always felt a little out of the loop in their group of friends, like she was only there because she was interested in Chug. It felt nice to be remembered during such important times. “Just don’t say I never did you any favors.”

With that, she drove off.


	11. Kimono

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis and Sal get assigned to work on a project for Culture Week at school.

“All right; let’s brainstorm.”

The sound of Sal’s voice brought Travis back to Earth. His mind had been far away. 

Culture Week was two weeks away, and Travis’s teacher had paired him up with Sal Fisher, of all people. 

Even if Travis had apologized to him for being ‘a cliche bully,’ in Sal’s words, he was pretty sure they couldn’t really be considered friends yet. On top of that, he still hadn’t quite dealt with those weird, confusing thoughts and feelings he’d been having. 

In short, he had a lot to think about, and none of it had to do with what they were supposed to be doing: studying up on Japan. That was why they were in the library, in the first place.

“Yeah, I, uh…” Travis scratched the back of his neck, probably looking as awkward as he was feeling. “I got nothin’.”

Sal shrugged. “Okay, then; don’t worry about it. I’ve got a few ideas, anyway. I just wanted to make sure we listed all the options.” Travis eyed the page in Sal’s notebook that he’d been scribbling in. He couldn’t make out what Sal’s messy handwriting said, but he _ did  _ notice the sketches he’d made; they looked like robes.

The silence stretched on before Sal spoke once more.

“My dad said something about me having Asian heritage.”

Travis perked up. “He did?” 

Sal nodded. “On my mom’s side, apparently.” 

“So we can just go to your house and get everything we need?”

Sal laughed, shooting down Travis’s hopes right away. “Just because I may be part Asian doesn’t mean my dad and I celebrate the culture very much. After all, we’re from New Jersey…”

Travis gave a soft, nervous laugh. “Right, right. I keep forgetting that.”

Sal looked up. “Forgetting what?”

“Well. It’s just… you’ve been here for a long time now…”

“Yeah?” 

“It almost seems like you just.  _ Belong _ here, nowadays. Ya know?” Travis kept his gaze away, adjusting the pencil in front of him. 

Sal put his pencil down. “Aw, have I ingrained myself into your life so much that you can’t picture it without me?”

Immediately, the blond scoffed. “You wish!”

Quietly, he agreed.

“Do you think you can go get me some books?” Sal was looking over to him and Travis could see his blue eye--wait. There was… only one blue eye. The other was… green? 

“Uh, did you always have a green eye?” Travis looked away quickly as he stood.

Sal laughed. “No. It’s just something I bought with my job money. Anyway. Books!” He gave him the numbers and let him loose into the library.

They didn’t spend as much time at the library as Travis might have thought, to his secret disappointment. Even so, he found himself learning. 

And it was _ fun. _ In between the bits and pieces he wrote in his notebook, he listened to Sal talk. 

“I think it’s Japanese I’ve got in me,” he said. “My mom’s dad’s mom immigrated here from Japan. I  _ think. _ ” Sal had sounded sure up until the end, there, so Travis decided not to grill him about it. “I’ve got Black in me, too, also on my mom’s side. I don’t know as much about that, though.”

“My mom’s Black,” Travis absently said. 

“Really? Cool!” Sal said brightly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met your mom. Is she in the church service like your dad?”

Even if they were getting along all right, Travis didn’t think they were close enough to discuss his mother’s messy divorce from his father or the fact that he hadn’t spoken to her in years. So he opted to change the subject. “What do you think we’re going to need?”

If Sal noticed the abrupt change in topic, he didn’t say anything; he moved right along with it. “Well, fabric, obviously. We’re going to need patterns, too; I know how to sew, but not from memory. Heavy duty thread  _ and _ embroidery thread…”

Travis frowned. “What’s the difference?”

Sal laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Travis; you’ve got  _ so  _ much to learn.”

“Y-yeah, whatever,” grumbled Travis, trying to ignore how his cheeks heated.

They worked at Sal’s place. It made sense; one of Sal’s neighbors had a sewing machine she’d let him borrow.

Travis was terribly shocked when the machine had come to life at the small tap of Sal’s shoe, the entire table shaking and vibrating as Sal continued his practice sewing without hesitation.

It almost seemed within moments that Sal held up a small shirt; too small for them to wear and too big for a doll. Travis tilted his head in confusion.

“What’s--?” He didn’t have a moment to respond.

“Gizmo! Here, Kitty Kitty!” Sal leaned over in his chair as a jingle filled the air, Gizmo running up to them.

Sal hefted up the big cat, putting the shirt on him carefully as he sang “Big kitty, big big big! Good kitty mwah mwah mwah!” He pressed ‘kisses’ to Gizmos head every time he said mwah; for some reason, Travis found himself jealous. 

“Do you… always do that?” Travis watched as Sal set Gizmo down. The big cat ran off. 

“Sometimes. He’s never usually bothered by it, though; I think he rather likes it.” 

“Your cat likes it when you make clothes for it?” He didn’t give Sal a chance to answer. “So we’ll be wearing..?”

“I’ll be wearing a kimono. It has a lot of rules I know that you probably can’t learn about quickly enough.”

Sal shrugged. 

“And  _ I’ll  _ be wearing...?” Travis nearly seemed nervous about it.

“Don’t worry. It’s the male equivalent, but it’s not as stiff as if you were to wear said kimono.” Sal tried to explain in quick, easy terms, fingers dancing as he pointed out pictures of what he was talking about.

“Yours will be a montsuki,” Sal was saying. “It’s  _ like _ a kimono, but usually worn by guys. It’s got family crests called ‘mon’ on it; that’s why it’s called a  _ Mon _ tsuki. It’s still for formal occasions, though I think people also like wearing them for theater and martial arts.” 

“Cool,” Travis said. “I don’t know if I  _ have  _ any family crests, though.” 

“That's okay; we can make some up.”

“So, uh...what do you want me to do?” Travis asked. 

“First we should see how the patterns will look,” Sal said. “That’s when I think we should decorate the fabric; sew designs on it, embroider, whatever we want. Then cut out the fabric, sew, and that should be it.”

Sal made it sound easy and quick, but really, they wound up working late into the night. They still had days to finish up this project, but Travis found himself getting really into it, and Sal never once told him to leave, so Travis took advantage of that; he didn’t really want to go home, anyway.

He watched eagerly as Sal showed him embroidering techniques. He was a bit afraid of the sewing machine, but he still watched intently as Sal used it. “Where’d you learn how to do all this?” Travis asked. 

“One of my babysitters taught me,” Sal said when the needle stopped. “Dad had to work a lot more after Mom died, so he’d have people come over, or he’d drop me off.”

“Oh.” It still made Travis feel  _ some way _ , knowing that Sal’s mom was dead. How was it that he’d been through so much shit, but was still so... _ nice? _

“I wanted to make clothes for Gizmo; she dressed her Chihuahua up all the time.” Sal ran the sewing machine again before adding “Usually I’m kind of afraid of dogs, but that dog was so little I didn’t really have a problem with him. Anyway, that’s how I got started; making clothes for my cat.” 

Travis wanted to laugh; Sal spoiled his cat rotten. It was silly, but also adorable. 

When the machine stopped again, Sal pulled the fabric away. “Okay; I’ve finished a big part of mine. It’s not done yet, but I want to see if I’ve gotten it right.” With that, he pulled it on over his clothes and pulled it shut before holding his arms out. “What do you think so far?”

It took a moment for Travis to answer; his breath had just been taken away.

The larger part of the kimono made Sal damn near shimmer. The blue waved, and it almost seemed to change the colors from blue to green to teal back to blue. Travis had to blink rapidly to realize that Sal was still staring at him intently, expecting an answer.

“You look, uh,  _ amazing.” _ He kept blinking. “And it’s not done?”

“No. I’ve still got the otaiko, the tare, the obiage, obijime, ohashori, and the haneri to get through, although those shouldn’t take too long.”

“And we still have to embroider it?” Travis struggled to keep up.

Sal nodded “ _ And _ do yours.” 

He saw the worried look on Travis’s face, seeing him look down and fiddle with his thumbs a bit before laughing and looking up. 

“Man, I’m really useless at this kinda stuff, huh?”

Sal shook his head, taking off the tamoto carefully. “No, you just don’t know about it. I don’t expect you to be an expert on something you haven’t heard of until now.”

Travis shrugged. “Well, I mean-“

“Travis.” Sals tone made him take pause, but not out of fear.  “You’re fine. I promise. Wanna help me with this? I can teach you, or you can take notes.”

Travis considered his options for a moment, then glanced up “I’ll take notes, if that’s alright.”

Sal could be heard smiling “Good. Visual, mental, writing? Which notes do you prefer?”

Travis shrugged “I’ll watch and ask questions later.”

Sal chuckled, Travis meeting a bit when he heard that deep voice “Alright, I’ll get back to work then, ok?”

Travis nodded. “Okay.”

The blue haired boy was about to reach for the sewing machine again when he paused. “Oh! Do you wanna stay the night? It’s getting late, and I’m worried about you walking through the dark all alone.”

Travis scoffed. “You’re worried about me?” 

In truth, his heart skipped a beat, and he turned his head to avoid Sam seeing his blush.

“Yeah. I’ll admit when I say I don’t live in the nicest part of town. I’d rather keep an eye on you.”

Travis nodded “Alright. I’ll go call my dad.”

He ignored the twisting in his stomach, getting up and heading towards the phone he’d seen earlier.

The phone call was about as pleasant as Travis expected. His father’s deep voice held anger that was cold, rather than hot, as he expressed how little he liked when things didn’t go to plan; he ended the phone call with “We’ll talk about this later.” Travis was all too familiar with the statement; it meant that absolutely nothing good would be waiting for him when he got home.

“Travis?” he heard Sal call.

Oh, well; that just meant he’d have to enjoy the meantime. Sal, himself, was the one who’d taught him that.

“Coming!” Travis called back as he hung up the phone.

True to what they’d agreed, Travis mostly took notes as Sal worked with his hands. Every once in a while he’d hold fabric that needed to be held still, usually as Sal embroidered. That process was fascinating to watch; the fabric looked different in between those wooden rings, and Sal’s fingers worked so quickly and yet delicately to create those dainty designs. At other points, Sal would ask Travis to cut here or there, and he would obey.

Probably the most trying points would be when Sal took his measurements; he’d had to hold perfectly still with his arms up or out as Sal got too close to him for minutes on end. He could only hope that he didn’t notice his reddened cheeks.

That had been bad enough, but then Travis had to take Sal’s measurements, in return. He gulped as he stood behind him, having to hold the tape measure around his waist as he croaked out the number he read.

Travis figured they were about three fourths of the way done when Sal said that they should probably turn in for the night. He didn’t say so out loud, but he was almost disappointed; this had been fun. 

And they still had days to go.

 

Culture Week rushed to meet them. The day for the Asian cultures to present was Monday, which meant that Travis got to sleep over at Sal’s the Sunday before. 

To make things easier for themselves, they decided to get changed right there in the apartment and just walk to school in what they’d made, then change in the boys’ room at the end of the day.

Travis had to smile when he looked at himself in the mirror; he had to admit, Sal knew what he was doing. He looked classy in the montsuki; Sal had decided on what he called a Kuro Mon-tsuki, which had a black haori and striped hakama. He especially liked the titular mon that Sal had made; it was in the shape of a dog that looked like Benji, who Travis considered the only good part of his current family.

“Almost done,” Sal said. “Mind helping me tie the obi?”

Travis did as he was asked, and once again, he felt breathless.

If the beautiful blue and green shades weren’t enough, the whole thing looked even better with the deep red fukuro obi, as Sal called it. The hours Sal had spent embroidering it with yellow and gold thread had clearly paid off; the silky piece of fabric pulled the whole ensemble together. It was snug around Sal’s waist, bringing more attention to his figure.

Travis yanked his eyes away, suddenly feeling drab and unimpressive in his own black and white outfit. 

“You look great,” Sal told him. He’d gone with a red prosthetic eye today and had pulled his long hair up into a complicated bun. His natural eye shone brightly.

“Thanks,” Travis managed to whisper. “You too.”


	12. Kitsune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throughout Sal's life, there's always been a reminder that something's different about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was only written by me.

The first time Sal sees it, he’s three years old and his mother is holding a piece of the picnic blanket that’s still clean to his bleeding face. 

Near where he saw the big black dog run off into the woods, there’s a fox. A cute little guy, he thinks; he’s got a pretty red coat and handsome black socks. 

The only thing is that his eyes are bright gold; too bright to be natural. Almost as soon as Sal realizes that, the fox runs into the woods, and that’s when Sal sees its three bushy tails.

“Mommy,” he tries to say, but it only comes out as a whisper. “Look…” He’s feeling very sleepy, all of a sudden.

“Sal?” The last thing he remembers is falling and being caught by his mother, all while her cries get louder and louder.

  
  


The second time he sees it is in Addison Apartments. He’s slowly been able to bring his eyes away from the mangled corpse of Mrs. Sanderson; he feels like he should be more horrified by all of this, but more than anything, he just feels sorry that he didn’t get to meet her. With the exception of Mrs. Gibson and Charley, everyone in the apartment seems pretty nice, even the little ghost girl upstairs.

Maybe he’ll get to meet Mrs. Sanderson’s ghost now, too. 

When Sal looks back at the front door of Addison Apartments, he has to blink. There’s that fox again, staring at him with those impossibly golden eyes. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, and makes his way to the little creature.He kneels before the fox. “I’m Sal.” 

Up close, he can see that the white markings around the creature’s muzzle and belly seem to have expanded across its rough fur coat. The fox tilts its head, looking up at him almost expectantly. Sal wants to laugh; he reminds him a lot of Gizmo. Foxes seem to behave the way dogs would if they could mate with cats, and it’s kind of adorable. The tip of one of the fox’s tails twitches around its feet, and that’s when Sal sees that it’s grown two more of them. It now has five tails.

He has so many questions to ask, but right then he hears the sound of a car backfiring. Startled, he looks behind him and sees that the ambulance and the police car are now backing out of the driveway.

When Sal turns back around, the fox is nowhere to be seen.

 

As soon as Sal stops feeling the electric current boiling his blood and cooking his flesh, he realizes he’s standing. He turns and sees his own charred remains still strapped to the electric chair.

“Oh, Jeez,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples. “Am I gonna be stuck here for eternity now?” Maybe Addison Apartments weren’t perfect, but at least he would’ve had company there. At least it wouldn’t have been so depressing.

“Of course not.”

There it is. Or rather, there  _ she _ is; the voice that came from the apparition of the now seven-tailed fox sounded like a woman’s. 

“You again?” Sal blinks. “Gotta say, of all the times and places I expected to see you again, this wasn’t it.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Sal.” The fox’s muzzle doesn’t open or close as she speaks; her voice has a strange echoing quality to it.

“Right, so...as long as we’re here...who  _ are _ you, exactly?  _ What _ are you?”

“I am a kitsune; a multi-tailed fox spirit.” The fox gets up, and Sal sees that he  _ hadn’t _ been imagining things the last time he saw her; the white of her fur had  _ definitely _ been taking over her body. There are only bits of black at the tips of her ears and paws now, and only a slim stripe of red down her spine. “I’ve been following you since your birth, Sal Fisher.”

Sal blinks again. Strange; though he no longer has either eye, he can see her very clearly out of both sockets. “Why?” he asks.

“Because we in the spirit world could tell, from the moment you were born.” The kitsune hops elegantly around him and up onto the lap of his dead body. The guards sure are taking their sweet time getting his remains, Sal thinks; no one else must be getting executed in this chair tonight. “You are different, Sal. You’ve been able to see me since you were little, yes?”

Sal nods, rather dumbly. 

“No one else could. Your mother wouldn’t have been able to, even if she’d heard you. The police wouldn’t have been able to; not even the people at the apartments would have been able to.” Her eyes are now glowing, more yellow than gold. “I’ve been protecting you. The times you’ve seen me were times when you should have died.”

“Oh.” It’s kind of funny that she’s saying that, Sal thinks, because she’s currently sitting on his corpse. “Looks like you were kind of late this time; I’m glad I know more about you now, but it might’ve been nice if you’d shown up sooner.” Despite everything, Sal isn’t really angry; at least now he has some answers.

“You’re a smart young man, Sal; I would’ve thought you’d realized by now. You’ve always been meant for more.”

“What do you mean?” 

The kitsune’s eyes shine in amusement. “Try walking out of this room. Right through the door.”

Sal frowns, but does as he’s told. He walks right through the steel door, right through the body of Ashley Campbell. 

He’s left his place of death; something he’s only known one other ghost to do. 

“You were meant for more than the mortal realm; you can accomplish more like this.” The kitsune’s appeared before him again, seemingly out of thin air. Maybe that’s just what she’s done; she is a spirit, after all. “But be aware...you’ve only got three days to do what you need to.”

Sal isn’t quite sure he knows what he needs to do, but he believes her, and he thinks he has an idea of where to start.

Just before he leaves, though, he turns back to see Ash leaning heavily against the door. If he still had a heart, he knows it’d be breaking; this is the first time he’s ever seen her cry. 

_ Because she just saw me die. _ He realizes that there’s something near her feet...a picture of Larry’s ghost.

She’d still been looking for proof to get him off of Death Row. She’d been on his side the whole time.

Sal puts a hand on her back, shaking as her body is wracked with sobs. “Hang in there, Ash,” he whispers, though he’s pretty sure she doesn’t hear him. “I’ll be back in three days.”

 

The last time he sees her is on his deathbed.

It’s been decades since he came back from the dead; the details of bringing the cult down once and for all have become a blur since then. 

After all, in that amount of time, he’s come across something even more important. 

He’d been tempted to wallow in self pity, upset that he no longer had any family, until he ran into Travis again. They’d fallen in tentative love, gotten married, and had two beautiful daughters. 

It might be corny to say, but memories pertaining to those of the family he’d gained seemed more important.

One daughter is now in her fifties; the other is in her late forties. And when he’d woken up, he’d realized that the body of his husband was cold.

And there at the foot of their bed is the kitsune. She’s much bigger than he remembers, but then again, he’s eighty-seven now; generally, the world seems bigger than it used to be. She’s entirely white now, and he counts nine long, fluffy tails. They seem to billow behind her, despite the fact that they’re inside and there should be no wind.

“Was wondering when I’d see you again,” he says, managing a smile. 

“You almost sound disappointed.” Her bright eyes flash in what seems to be amusement. 

Sal chuckles. It comes out in a weak rasp. “So. This it?”

“Yes and no.” The creature moves with otherworldly grace as she moves forward to lay on his chest. “This life is ending, but there are more ahead of you.”

Sal turns his head to look at Travis. He’d always joked that he’d aged much better than Sal had, but even at this age, he still finds him beautiful. He must have gone in his sleep not too long ago, he thinks; peaceful and quiet. A dignified end to a life that had been full of violence and chaos.

Their daughters will be fine, and they’ll know what to do with them; they’ll realize what’s happened when they don’t pick up their phone for their Saturday morning brunch. The cats will be upset, but the girls will take them. 

This life has been full, and Sal has done most of the things he’s ever wanted to do.

Without thinking, Sal reaches over to grip Travis’s hand, then turns to smile at the kitsune. “I’m ready.”


	13. Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis makes a joke at his own expense; Sal won't have any of that.

Travis stood by the dumpster, keeping an eye out for cops; something he frankly never thought he would be doing. Being a priest’s son, he expected himself to be able to behave and to follow the law.

Of course, Sal Fisher just  _ had _ to ruin everything. They’d been paired up for a stupid art project, and they’d been assigned to make a beautiful art piece out of trash.

Sal had been the one to hunt Travis down and drag him to the dumpster behind an apartment complex; not his own.

The dumpster seemed to be filled with valuable sorts of trash, which Sal kept tossing out beside Travis, calling out a warning every time.

“Picture frame!”

Travis helped as the frame shattered next to him. “Be careful! I could’ve been hurt!”

Sal pokes his head out from the dumpster, lifting his prosthetic so that Travis could see the smile. “Oh? Poor baby, do you need a kiss to make it all better?”

Travis flushed red and despite his short “no!”, he _ did _ want to whisper yes. He  _ did _ want the kiss, but kept his mouth shut. After all, he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, if… that’s what this even was.

Sal pouted and went back into the trash, digging through it. “A shame; I’ve been told that I give magical kisses.”

Travis only scoffed. “Oh please. There’s nothing magical about kisses.”

Travis could barely hear Sal from how deep he was in the dumpster. “Whatever you say, Travy. The offer still stands~”

Travis heard a few more yells from Sal; mostly key rings, more picture frames, a torn up scrapbook cover, an old pink sweater with a rainbow on it and a torn sleeve, an old computer monitor…

“Hey, if you find me in there, don’t be alarmed.” Travis called 

Sal’s movements stopped; Travis turned his head and saw Sals eyes bearing into him. “What do you mean?”

“I.. it was a joke, haha… bout how I’m pretty much trash.”

Sal jumped out of the dumpster, advancing on Travis. “Tell me you’re not trash.”

Travis was startled, staring at him. “I’m… not trash?”

“Say it like you mean it.” Sal grabbed Travis’s hands, despite Travis’s pulling on it. “Say it… please.”

Travis could see hurt and fear in Sals eyes. He pressed his lips together before saying “I’m not trash.”

Sal relaxed, letting go of Travis’s hands. He sighed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s… fine?” Travis tilted his head.

“It’s just…” Sal shook his head. “I’ve known people who’d say those sorts of things about themselves. Say they were joking, but…” Sal looked down at Travis’s hands. He did so as though they were made of porcelain; Travis wasn’t really sure how to feel about it. “All jokes have a kernel of truth, you know? Even if it’s not true at first, you might start to believe it.  _ No one _ deserves that.” 

“Oh.” Travis swallowed past the lump he suddenly found in his throat. “Okay, uh...guess I won’t say that anymore, then.” At least not around Sal. And not very often. Maybe he’d move up to a point when he’d only say it in his head and not out loud.

“Maybe you think I’m being ridiculous, but if you don’t, I promise it’ll help. You’ll start seeing yourself differently.” 

_ Yeah, but  _ Dad  _ won’t.  _ The thought popped completely unbidden into Travis’s head. His eyes widened as he realized it. 

Sal gave his hands another squeeze before climbing back into the dumpster. Travis stared, somewhat dreamily, still distracted by just how warm Sal’s hands had been. He stood there for a moment, not really putting much effort into catching the things Sal threw over the edge.

Travis only started moving quickly when he realized that the lid to the dumpster was starting to move.

“Sal!” he called. When the other boy didn’t move quickly enough, Travis ran, just barely catching the lid of the dumpster before it could smack poor Sal’s head and trap him in.

He huffed a quick sigh before looking up at his befuddled friend. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah; honestly didn’t see that,” Sal said, looking up at the dumpster lid. “Thanks, Travis.”

It occurred to Travis that maybe, just maybe, he’d overreacted; it was a plastic dumpster lid. It wasn’t like it would have seriously hurt Sal. He managed a sheepish smile as he quietly said “Yeah; no problem.” He tossed the lid backwards; thankfully it stayed against the wall this time.

“Now, see?” Sal’s voice was warm and kind of teasing; he’d pulled his face back down, but Travis could tell that he was grinning at him. “Would a person who was trash do that for someone else?”

Travis looked down at the ground and folded his arms across his chest. Sal had him there, the clever bastard. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Shut up and keep looking.”


	14. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It always seems to come back to pizza...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned, this chapter contains potentially triggering material regarding parental abuse and a dog attack. If you've got any triggers regarding either of those topics, please approach with caution.
> 
> Also a waitress gets assaulted. A slice of pizza is thrown at her. So here's a trigger warning for retail abuse, too.

“I can’t believe you!” Sal was mad; an emotion that Travis hadn’t seen before.

Sal was wringing first his hands, then his hair, tugging and pulling and even going so far as yanking at his hair while he paced, not daring to look at Travis.

“You can’t just do that to people!” Sal was near screaming, leading Travis to start being angry as well.

“Do  _ what?!  _ Just tell people I don’t like pizza!?”

“It’s not about the fucking pizza Travis!” Sal kicked a box down the alleyway. “It’s about the fact that you  _ willingly  _ started a  _ fistfight  _ over fucking  _ cheese pizza! _ ”

It was definitely rage. Sal wasn’t  _ angry _ at him; no, _ that _ would be tame. Sal was pissed! Infuriated! Ready to scream.

“I didn’t notice that I was doing it, okay! They just pushed all the right buttons-!”

“That’s no an excuse! What if you did this  _ every single time  _ we went out together?!” Sal yanked on a ponytail. “We’d be banned everywhere! You could get arrested!”

“I didn’t mean to, Sal, I swear-!” His voice was getting pitched and he was gritting his teeth. “I just got mad and saw red! I don’t know why I did what I did and I’m sorry!”

“I’m not who you should apologize to!” Sal finally turned to face him, stance conveying anger. “You need to go apologize to that 16 year old! I’m not the one you threw a pizza slice at!”

“Sal-!” Travis ran a hand through his hair, hand brushing over his scar.

“Unless the words coming out of your mouth is the explanation for why you threw a pizza slice at someone, or its to say you’re going to apologize,  _ I don’t want to hear it. _ ”

Sal folded his arms and turned around. He was never like this with Travis; they understood that their traumas did something to them, but tonight was different. For some reason, Travis just couldn’t stand the pizza, and Sal had mentioned something about the teen looking like his mom when he’d last seen her, and-

Travis gave a soft sigh. “I’m… I’m sorry. What I did wasn’t right, but I still know what made me do it, and why I had that reaction.”

Sals stance relaxed, and he turned his head very slightly to Travis.

“.. my parents just divorced. Me and my dad, all alone.. I thought it was the best… but...”

“It was a trap.” Sal murmured, having heard the beginning many times late at night. 

Travis squeezed his eyes shut. “I...didn’t tell you everything.” He was sure that would catch Sal’s attention; usually they shared  _ everything. _ “I think it was about...the fourth night? Yeah; the fourth night since Mom moved out. Dad wasn’t much of a cook, so he made--”

“Pizza.” Sal’s eyes widened.

“Yeah. Thin crust. It was my favorite when I was a kid.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “That night, we got in an argument. I don’t even remember what it was about...probably something stupid. I was a kid, you know?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Sal was no longer yelling. That was a good sign. 

“Whatever it was about, Dad didn’t like it. I still remember the look on his face...Sal, he was  _ so angry _ …”

At some point while he was talking, Sal had slowly, quietly moved into his personal space. 

“He grabbed my hand and forced it into the pizza. Held it there for...for a long time. Funny thing about pizza sauce that’s just come out of the oven...it’s like lava.”

“Oh,  _ Travis _ …” Sal whispered. 

“That’s why I don’t like it. Every time I see it, I think about that moment.” Travis took a shuddery breath. “It was a cheese pizza he made that night.” 

“So  _ that’s  _ why…” Sal placed a hand on Travis’s forearm. The gentle touch helped calm him down. “That poor girl still deserves an apology. And a huge tip. But still, I…” Sal gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. “I understand now. Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I yelled.”

Travis managed a shaky smile. “Thanks. I’ve never seen you like that before, though.” He frowned. “Was it really just because of the...scene I made, or…?”

“No. It wasn’t.” Sal took a deep breath. It was his turn now, Travis realized. “You know that it’s because of a dog that I have to wear a prosthetic.”

Travis nodded. 

“And you know that both my parents and I were on a picnic when it happened, right? And that my mom’s dead?”

“Yes?”

“But I never told you...it’s my fault.”

Travis’s eyes widened. “What?” 

He saw Sal take a deep breath. “Dad was parking the car; Mom set up the blanket and the basket. I was too excited to eat, though; I saw the dog. And I kept begging my mom to let me go pet it. Just kept pestering her and pestering her until she agreed.” 

Travis shook his head. “Sal…” 

Before he could disagree, Sal kept talking. “I don’t remember much about how it attacked me; that’s all kind of a blur. It didn’t even really hurt.”

“Well, yeah; you must’ve gone into shock.” Travis brushed some of Sal’s hair back over his shoulder. 

“I know. Funny thing, though...I  _ do _ remember when the dog finally let me go. I guess it got bored with me, because then it went after Mom.”

That did it. Travis wrapped his arms around Sal’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

“I still remember it so clearly…” Sal’s voice was muffled, but Travis could still hear the sudden thickness of it. “The look on her face…”

“Like our waitress, right?” Now that he’d begun recovering from being so heavily triggered, Travis was now overcome with guilt. Like working as a waitress wasn’t difficult or dangerous  _ enough _ . That poor girl…

“Yeah.” Travis heard a wet sniff against his shoulder, and then felt that much worse. He’d made his husband cry. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before kissing Sal’s head.

He felt a comforting squeeze around his waist. “I’m sorry, too.” He realized he was crying, too.

Travis and Sal took a long while to calm themselves, Travis breathing in Sal’s smell, and Sal feeling Travis’s hair, which was getting incredibly long at this point; it was almost to his shoulders.

Against Travis’s shoulder, he mumbled “You’re gonna start looking like a dirty hobo.” 

Travis chuckled, turning his head so that he could press a kiss to Sal’s head. “You know you love it.”

Sal jokingly tugged in his hair a bit. “Behave yourself.”

Travis and Sal giggled, then pulled out their wallets to see how much cash they had on them. Despite having just eaten dinner, Sal’s tips from his cooking job were still untouched; it was about $100 or so, since he worked with all the snooty rich people he couldn’t stand.

“I can give her $50. That way we can still afford our internet bill, and to make sure we don’t starve or anything.”

Sal nudged Travis with his shoulder, Travis returning the gesture. 

“And I’ll apologize for how I reacted.” 

“And then we never come back here?” They snorted, laughing.

“I won’t if you won’t.” Travis looped an arm around his waist, leading him back inside and out of the cold.

“Then I suppose I’ll choose a different place to hang out.” Sal teases.

Travis cracked up, leading his husband away from the alleyway.


	15. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day, and both the boys have secret admirers!

It started on Valentines’ Day in Travis’s Senior year of high school. He opened his locker to find a package wrapped up in soft pink paper. 

“What the Hell?” he murmured, tenderly picking the thing up. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a present; the last one he could remember was the new bible his grandma had given him a few Christmases ago. Who could’ve given him this? And why?

Immediately suspicious, he looked to his left, then his right. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, eagerly waiting for him to fall for some childish prank.

Deciding to risk it, he unwrapped the thing. It was a tiny stuffed pig, clearly hand-made. Probably a first attempt, too. 

It was...honestly kind of cute, he thought. The felt was a pleasant shade of pink and the snout was shaped like an upside down heart. 

There was a card, he realized. It read “Don’t hog all the love just because it’s a special day!” Underneath that horribly cheesy pun, someone had written “Hope this makes you smile! You deserve it.”

Maybe he did. But just for a second.

He decided he couldn’t let anyone know; after all, who would believe him? He wasn’t even sure if it was meant for him until he saw the little pig’s hoof, where his name was etched into it. 

His face turned red, and he put the pig back into his locker tenderly. He almost felt bad about the fact that he didn’t know who gave him this, or even about the fact that he planned on gifting Sal something instead.

He swallowed down the guilt and turned, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw none other than Sal, standing right behind him.

“Lord and Savior! Don’t do that!” He huffed and slammed his locker shut.

“Sorry, Sorry.” Sal waved his hands a bit, in an effort to ‘make peace’. “It’s just, I was wondering.” Sal shrugged a bit. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day, do you maybe wanna go see a movie with me?”

Travis’s face heated up and he looked away.

“Will it make you feel better if I say no homo even if it is a  _ little  _ homo?”

Travis’s lip twitched, and he nodded. “Sure, just…. don’t let my dad know, okay?”

Sal put a hand over his heart. “I swear.”

They exchanged information and moved on.

 

Sal had been busting his ass all day. First he made that pig, which he felt could be better, then he actually got the nerve to ask Travis out!

It shocked him, honestly. 

Because of the fact that he’d asked Travis in the morning, he had to sit through all his classes and think over his choice.

And oh  _ boy, _ was he regretting it. 

He shook his head, telling himself that this would be good as he opened his locker.

Sal immediately paused, staring down the contents. There was a ribbon attached to the door, with a note hanging from a string. Along with the note were several roses, wrapped in the gold ribbon as well.

Sal gently took up the note, reading it over. 

‘While petals may fly in the wind,

My love for you does not fly far

However it can indeed

Spread quickly from my heart 

In hopes of reaching yours.’

 

Sal might have swooned. Just a bit. Did people still do that? 

Even if they didn’t, he was pretty sure they’d understand. This was easily the most romantic thing he’d ever seen. 

He managed to get down from Cloud 9 when he remembered that he was going on a date with Travis. One he’d specifically asked him out on. 

_ Maybe it’s from Travis, _ some unhelpful part of his brain offered.

He was pretty sure that was wishful thinking; it _ would _ make things a lot easier.

Well, they could cross that bridge when they got to it. Right now Sal had a movie to look forward to. 

 

It took them a while, but eventually they settled on a romantic comedy. “It fits the holiday,” Travis pointed out.

12 Things I Dislike About You turned out to be far more enjoyable than either boy had initially thought; they both found themselves laughing.

Maybe, at a certain point during the viewing, Travis attempted the “yawn and stretch” move he’d seen work out so flawlessly on television. Miraculously, that was how it worked out here, too; to his secret delight, Sal leaned against him for the rest of the picture.

“It’s so weird, but that movie’s story seemed so familiar to me,” Travis said as he walked Sal home. 

“I think it might’ve been based on The Taming of the Shrew,” Sal said. 

“Oh! That’s the play we read in English last year.” That was right; Travis hadn’t shared that class with Sal, but they did have the same class at different periods. 

“I think that’s one reason they have us read all these classics; we can take them and make them all modern-y.”

Travis laughed. “I see why you got an A in that class!”

Sal nudged him. “Shut up!” he said. Travis could tell that he was laughing, too.

As he watched Sal’s arms move in time with his steps, he noticed something poking out of his left sleeve. 

A gold ribbon. Just like the one he’d tied those roses up with. 

Sal was wearing his present.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he said, trying to be nonchalant, “where’d you get that ribbon?”

Sal was blunt, never one known to hide things. “I got it as a gift in my locker! And it came with a really beautiful poem…” He felt the ribbon on his wrist, his voice conveying that he was smiling.

Travis gulped, looking to the side. “Is that so?”

Sal nodded. “Did you get anything, Travis?”

“What?”

“Did you get anything for Valentine’s Day?” Sal paused in his walking, turning to face Travis completely.

Travis contemplated on telling Sal about the pig, then quickly decided he should.

“I got a really cute, handmade pig. I adore him, honestly, and I want to name him Trevor.”

“Trevor?” Sal turned away again, heading down the street.

“Trevor, kinda like…like in Florence Gardens” he flushed

Sal perked up. “You’ve been reading the Magic books, too?”

Travis rubbed 

the back of his neck. “Yeah.”  _ In secret. Dad would  _ kill  _ me if he found out… _

Sal seemed to be beaming “that’s awesome!”

“Yeah?” he asked with a smile. “Guess that’s something we have in common, then.”

Sal’s house appeared far too soon. Travis wasn’t quite ready for this date to end yet. Hoping to prolong the night, as soon as they reached the door to the apartments, he asked if he could walk Sal up to his door. 

Sal seemed to feel the same way, because he said yes. 

So many words were on Travis’s tongue on the elevator ride up.  _ I wrote you that poem _ , he wanted to say.  _ It took me hours, and I mean every word. I got you the roses because they’re beautiful, like you. _

He desperately wanted to tell him, or at least make him put two and two together. 

More than anything, though, Travis wanted to spill all the words he had about how he felt. Somehow, he hadn’t yet run out of ways to say that he liked Sal, or things that he liked about him. 

Once they stood in front of Sal’s door, though, all that Travis could stutter out was “So, uh...th-this was fun.” He cleared his throat. “Good idea.”

“Thanks!” Sal beamed up at him. “I had a great time, too.”

Travis took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out, he pressed his lips to the plastic ones of Sal’s prosthetic. They were hard and cold; really, he wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting them to feel like.

It was still far nicer than he’d thought.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he blurted before running back to the elevator, face burning.

Just before the doors closed, he heard a tiny “Happy Valentine’s Day” squeaked back.


	16. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal and Travis wonder if there's ever going to be a day when their youngest daughter doesn't get sent to the principal's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter are sexual harassment and victim blaming, specifically of a minor. It has a happy ending, but if those are triggers for you, approach with caution.

The car was silent; far too silent.

Travis’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he drove himself and Sal down to the middle school, Tiffany already in the back, playing her Gear Boy she’d gotten for her birthday.

“Unbelievable.” Sal muttered, rubbing his scalp. “What is this, Travis? The fifth day in a row? That’s a whole week of school for her to be in detention, especially when she’s got gymnastics.”

Travis nodded. “I know, hun. I’m well aware of how many times we’ve had to take work off.”

Sal sighed, resting his head on his hand again. “Unbelievable….”

 

Baby was detained, simply put. At least that’s how she viewed it.

It was completely unfair to her that they would listen to the boy, and then completely ignore the fact that she had a side to the story as well.

That’s why she sat in the chair now; she never got a chance to explain her side of the story, and now tears were threatening to fall down her face because she knew her parents would be disappointed.

Not mad,  _ disappointed.  _

Her heart froze when she heard Sal and Travis walk into the principal’s office, hearing the old man shuffle as he made himself look presentable.

Baby, on the other hand, hid more into her hoodie, pulling the hood over her head and tugging on the strings. She could still feel Sal’s eyes on her.

“So, what seems to be the issue this time, Mr. Olaf?” Pops was the one speaking, she could tell.

“Baby here has gotten into yet another fight.”

“We could tell that part, at least.” Sal, Da, spoke up now. “We were told on the phone she was in a fight.  _ Again. _ ”

She winced and hid more. The disappointment was palpable and it stung.

“According to a younger boy, he offered to fix Baby’s cross back sports bra that she was wearing, and she turned and punched him for it.”

“That’s not true.” Her voice croaked, before she quickly whispered a sorry and went silent.

Sals voice became weary and confused. “And what did Baby say?”

Now the principal appeared to be sweating. “Well, in all the chaos, we were unable to-“

“Stop.” Travis cut him off. “You don’t get my daughters side of the story, assume she’s in the wrong, and give her detention.  _ All without asking her?!” _

The fat old man sputtered. “She’s had a history of violence-“

“Violence that was found  _ justified.  _ Baby wouldn’t attack  _ unprovoked _ .” Sal put his hands on the desk, his voice becoming angry.

Baby gazed up at her da in awe. She could count the number of times she’d ever seen him angry on one hand. 

“W-w-well, be that as it may-!” 

Also, seeing her principal finally being put on the spot for being so useless and sexist was cheering her up.

Just a little.

“You were told that a boy sexually harassed my daughter, and you had the gall to put  _ her  _ in detention?” Da’s voice was dangerously low. The old man stopped speaking completely, completely pale.

Pops sat down next to Baby. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Honey?” he said gently. 

Baby sniffled and loosened her hood just enough to show her father her eyes. “He didn’t just ask to fix it for me; after I told him to stop it, he snapped the back of it.” 

Her fathers were the very picture of calm right now, but she knew better; she saw the flash of anger in her pops’ eyes and noticed just how slowly her da brought himself to his full height.

“One of your students was sexually assaulted, and  _ this _ is how you’ve chosen to deal with it.” 

This whole situation was serious; it took Baby everything she had not to smile. 

“Well now, th-that’s a very serious accusation, Mr. Phelps.” Mr. Olaf pulled at his tie.

“Yes, I know,” said Da. “That’s why I’m making it. And that’s why I plan on bringing this to the school board.”

“That’s right,” added Pops, putting a hand on Baby’s knee. “And if they don’t listen, we plan on bringing as much attention to this issue any other way we can.”

Baby’s heart grew lighter and warmer as she watched her dads team up against the quickly deflating principal. 

By the time the family walked out of the office, Baby’s eyes were completely dry.

Sal sighed, putting an arm around his daughter and leaning his head against her; despite her being only 12, she had a seven inch advantage on him, which wasn’t helped by the heels she adamantly wore.

Travis wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the only one in the family to be able to.

“So, am I grounded?” Baby knew that while she may have been let off the hook with the principal, she still might be in trouble at home.

Sal and Travis glanced at each other. One slight head shake, then: “no.”

“No?” Baby was confused, after all, her parents were adamant in punishment. If anything, she could’ve been grounded from the punch she swung.

“Baby, when you grow up…” Travis started, opening the door, 

Sal continued “you’ll realize that sometimes life has a habit of just working out.”

Baby pushed the other door open as she faced them. 

“What, like you two? Star crossed lovers?” She teased, a family joke.

Travis snorted “Of course.”

“What other example would we use?”

“Now c'mon.” Travis headed to the car. “We’re gonna get ice cream.”

Baby and Sal quickly dashed to the car, happy to get going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: Tif and Baby are Ball Jointed Dragon's creations, not mine; I had nothing to do with these lovely girls.


	17. Ticking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a different timeline, two unlikely souls meet in detention...

Travis stared up at the door to detention with a sigh. This was getting to be far too familiar.

The principal hadn’t listened when he insisted that that guy deserved to get punched in the face. He knew his father wouldn’t, either. 

Whatever. His life sucked; at least he’d get an hour of fucking peace and quiet.

At least, that was his thought before he entered the classroom. It was mostly empty, save for one person sitting near the middle.

The person wore a paint-splattered black sweatshirt with cat ears on the hood. He couldn’t see their face, since they were looking down at the desk, though he saw wild blue bangs poking out from the hood. Their head was moving rhythmically back and forth; Travis realized that he was wearing headphones.

He stared for what felt like a full minute before he took a chance and sat down next to the person; something he’d never done in detention before.

Before he could hate himself anymore than he might already, he tapped the person’s hand cautiously, their tapping fingers pausing as they looked up. 

Travis immediately caught sight of vivid blue eyes; they kept him locked in place. They were nearly clear, and hypnotizing. The fact that this person was wearing a mask didn’t register until a good thirty seconds after this person had taken off their headphones and was now staring at him. 

“Uh… what’re you.. Listening to?” Travis pushed back the urge to brush this person’s hair back, telling himself that that would be extremely weird, no matter how soft this person's hair appeared to be. 

“The shinedown…” This person’s voice was deep, rough almost. “‘Asking For It’, to be specific.”

“Is it good?” What a stupid question. Travis felt ready to smack himself through the wall. 

“Yeah, actually.” Travis could see the boy’s eyes light up, the sound of a smile lighting his voice. “I love the beat; the lyrics are iffy, but I still find it to be really good to listen when you’ve got an hour’s worth of detention left.”

Travis stifled the urge to laugh. “So, you are...?”

The blue-haired boy held up his hand, a small scar noted to be on the wrist bone; it didn’t seem to be intentional. “Sal. Sal Fisher. But you can call me Sally, if you want. Now who dares to intrude my Shinedown time?” 

His tone was teasing, but Travis flushed nonetheless. “Travis. Travis Phelps.”

“The preacher's kid?” Sal sounded astonished, resting his head on his hand, giving Travis all his attention. 

“I uh.. .got into trouble.” he shrugged.  

Sal scoffed. “That’s boring. No, I would like details.”

“I just met you.” Travis admonished, surprising himself by teasing back. 

“True, but I’ll find out one way or another.” Sal tapped the mask he wore, leading Travis’s eyes to it near immediately.

“Well, since you put it that way…” Travis scratched the back of his neck. “I got in a fight.” He looked down at his folded hands. “Again.”

“Again?” repeated Sal. “Doesn’t sound like something the preacher’s son should do.”

“Yeah, well, that asshole shouldn’t have said what he did about my mom.” Travis folded his arms across his chest. 

“Ah. I gotcha.” Sal’s eyes closed as he nodded. Travis couldn’t help staring at the cat ears on top of his hood; they wiggled with each movement of Sal’s head. “Sounds like he had it coming.”

Travis couldn’t help but smile. At least  _ one  _ person got it. “Yeah. Exactly.” Travis found his eyes drifting down from Sal’s face. The mask was eye-catching enough, but what really drew his eye was the paint on his hoodie. It came in every neon color you could name; considering that his hoodie was black, it stood out rather starkly. “So, I told you my story,” Travis said, “what’s yours?”

“It’s a lot dumber than yours.” The way Sal said it told Travis that he felt it was less dumb and more boring. 

“Try me.” 

“I’m a graffiti artist; one of the teachers caught me tagging a wall.”

Travis blinked. “So...that paint on your sweatshirt…”

Sal laughed. “Guess I couldn’t hide the evidence even if I wanted to.”

Travis glanced around quickly before turning back to Sal. 

“So what did you tag?”

Sal hid a laugh, showing Travis a piece of paper that had been hidden under his sleeves. There was an amazing design, showing demons and dogs and splatters of paint all over. Every time Travis looked at one thing, he would notice another, and would have to continually change the way he looked at if. 

“I didn’t even get halfway through, but this is how I wanted it to look. Pretty dumb, right?” Sal shrugged, once more tapping his mask.

“No, I think it’s really, really cool…” Travis kept looking over it, astounded.

They remained in silence while Travis looked, unknowingly pressing their shoulders together. The bell rang far too soon, Travis jumping a good foot away. Sal got up, taking the paper back and tucking it back into his pocket. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Sal tilted his head, staring at Travis with those big ol’ blue eyes of his.

Why was it suddenly hard to talk? “Uh, yeah. Probably.”

There was joy in Sal's voice as he took a gentle hold on Travis’s arm and dug out a marker, writing out numbers in careful, even strokes. 

“Please call me, alright? Maybe we can tag something together.”

“Uh… sure.” Travis perked, happier than he was just an hour ago.

Sal took his things, waving goodbye as Travis watched on. 

“Sure.” Travis repeated himself to the empty room.


	18. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal needs something for a school project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super short. But sweet, I'd like to think!

“Hey, Travis?” Sal came up to him that day, tilted head and a camera in hand. “Could you smile for a second?”

Travis did as the blue-haired boy asked, seeing a flash soon after. “Sorry. I needed a picture of something beautiful for a school project.”

Travis blinked rapidly, trying to get the stars from the sudden flash out of his eyes. 

“Perfect!” Sal’s muffled voice sounded pleased. “This’ll do _ just _ fine!”

By the time Travis regained his sight, the other boy had run off, leaving him standing there dazed and confused.

“That son of a bitch,” he murmured. Sal hadn’t even given him a chance to call him beautiful back!


	19. Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange happens when Travis looks through an old scrapbook...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Life is Strange AU no one asked for but is getting right now!

It had been ten years since Travis last saw Sal Fisher. They were young, dumb, and he hadn’t been wise enough to notice the cracks in Sal’s facade to understand what was going on during his time out of school.

After all, how was he supposed to know that Sal’s constant mental breakdowns in the toilet were the cause of home issues? 

_ He _ certainly hadn’t noticed, anyway.

He felt horrible over it, as well. While Larry and Ash and Todd has cared about Sal, noticed his breaks and cracks and loved him for it, Travis had been a shithead, tearing at the cracks even further, damaging him more in the name of preventing the love he felt.

He was inexcusably heartless. 

The last time he’d seen him, Sal had been crying the bathroom, much like Travis had been when they started their friendship. His prosthetic was hooked on the soap dispenser on the wall, his hand to his eyes as he sobbed that  _ Travis  _ of all people wouldn’t understand what he was going through. What he’d been hearing.

And now, Travis could agree. He sat there, on his ugly brown couch, staring at the TV in awe, seeing Sal’s familiar prosthetic, seeing the conviction.

Guilty.

Sal was going to die, and here Travis was, sitting on the couch, in his familiar pajamas, staring at Sal’s eyes as he watched them widen before seeing them droop.

He was accepting this.

He was seeing that he was going to die and he was  _ accepting it?! _

Pure rage erupted from Travis as he screamed, throwing down his pencil he’d been holding, running hands through his hair, pulling and feeling tears run down his face.

10 years, he’d planned on calling Sal when he got out of prison. 

10 years, a minor offense turned into a murder charge.

10 years, and a possible lifetime sentence became death.

10 years too late for an apology.

Travis remembered a time when his father has been nice to him, had shown him a beautiful butterfly with blue wings. He remembered seeing his dad take the poor butterfly (he hadn’t known it was dead then), and clipping its wings. 

He remembered crying, as he did now, sobbing that it was unfair how his dad cut the wings off of the butterfly.

“How can it fly ever again?”

His dad hadn’t even bothered to look over. The cruel eyes of the judge, and the jury, were the same eyes his dad gave him that day.

“He won’t. He never needed to, and now he won’t anymore. It’s simply life, Travis.”

Travis sink to his knees in the middle of his living room, his ugly sobbing turning into quiet sniffles and sobs. 

“He won’t ever be free again.”

_ You were too late. _

He was certain it wasn’t healthy to fixate on what was happening; a distraction might have done his mind something better.

But he couldn’t help himself; desperate for memories of some times that  _ had _ been happier and better, Travis dug out the binder he’d used for his Senior year of high school.

It wasn’t just a place for notes he’d taken and assignments he’d received; he’d used it as a poor man’s scrapbook. That had been where he kept old drawings, poems, short stories, and photographs from that year. 

Despite the headache Travis was now feeling from crying so hard and how dry his eyes had felt just minutes before, he felt tears gather again as his eyes landed on one particular photograph. It had been taken by Ashley Campbell just a few months before graduation. For this one, she’d insisted that it be all the boys in her friend group. Chug and Sal, the shortest ones, stood in front; Larry and Todd, both considerably taller, where standing behind them. 

At the last minute, Sal called Travis in to be a part of it. Despite many protests, there was Travis, right between Larry and Todd, right behind Sal. 

Looking at the photo, one might’ve never guessed that Sal had been sobbing in the bathroom hours earlier. Bright blue sparkled happily from the shadows cast by his mask.

Travis had been smiling, too. It was smaller and weaker than the ones on the faces of the other boys, but it was there all the same. That must have been one of the few times he’d done that that year. How sad; that had actually been the best year of high school for Travis. 

_ You fucking idiot,  _ he thought as tears fell again, silent this time.  _ You had no _ idea _ what sadness really was. _

It had been nice of Ash to give him the original photo while everyone else got copies, Travis thought; it was more fragile this way, but also more real. He impatiently blinked tears from his eyes as his vision grew blurry; he wanted to make more details in the photo. If only he could see better…

He  _ was.  _ If Travis hadn’t known better, he could’ve sworn that the budding leaves on the tree behind the group were swaying in the wind. Apparently grief did weird things to the mind, because right then he didn’t feel the heating unit in his apartment; he felt a soft spring breeze.

As he blinked again, the photograph vanished; a flash of white light met his eyes as they opened.

“All right!” Travis recognized that voice; it had been the one he’d heard crying out in protest when Sal had been declared guilty. 

There was Ashley Campbell, exactly as she’d looked at seventeen. Her copper-colored hair was still impossibly long as it swayed in the breeze. He watched, wide-eyed, as she shook a piece of film that had just come out of her camera, then pouted at what she saw on it. “Damnit, Travis, you blinked!”

He felt a sudden pressure on his back and let out an involuntary “Oof!” 

“Nice goin’, Jerk.”

That was a voice he hadn’t heard in a decade. “Larry?” he managed.  _ What the Hell…? _

What was going  _ on? _

Right then, pale blue that he was all too familiar with caught his eye. He had to look down. 

“Cool it, Guys. We can do it again.” Sal Fisher, aged eighteen, turned around to look him in the eye. “Right, Travis?”

Travis couldn’t speak, staring openly at Sal. The others waited for his response, staring at him.

Larry, who’d been dead for years, stared at him with a tinge of annoyance.

Todd, who’d been locked in an asylum, was flipping through a magazine. 

Ash, who’s been off the radar ever since Sal was arrested, held her camera and stared with a small twinge of exasperation.

Chug was eating. Chug, who'd been dead.

And the most important-

“Sal?” Travis’s eyes were almost as big as dinner plates.

“Yes, Travis?” Sal was standing just in front of him.

He hadn’t even known he’d moved until he was hugging Sal, tightly. 

Larry helped, trying to pull him off until Sal held up a hand. Sal wrapped his arm around Travis, returning the hug.

“It was just a photo, Travis. It’s okay. We can retake it.”

Travis knew he needed to warn Sal, something, of anything-

“You were dead.” His voice came out. 

“Maybe on the-“

“No!” He stood straight, coming out of the hug and staring all around, then back at Sal. “You were dead! Really dead! O-on the news, years from now, from the chair-“

“Travis, calm down. What are you talking about?” Sals voice was gentle as ever as he lead Travis to a small bench, kneeling in front of him.

“I-I… this morning I was in my 20s, like… 27 or something and on the news…. Sal, they killed you.” The tears flowed, and he gripped Sals hand.

“They killed you before I could say sorry...”


	20. Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two creatures of the night meet in a park one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was only written by me.

“Wonder if he’s worried about me?” Travis thought out loud. 

He immediately scoffed. His father didn’t worry; he simply got angry when things didn’t go just the way they were supposed to. If he was worried right now, it was probably about how it would look that his only child, the good Christian boy he’d tried so hard to raise right, hadn’t been home in three days.

It wasn’t like Travis had much choice; the crucifixes placed sporadically all over the walls of what had once been his house now burned him any time he got too close. 

He’d even had to throw away the beloved cross he’d worn ever since he was little. He hadn’t wanted to, but it had literally started to burn the skin on his chest. 

The pain still hadn’t been as intense as.. _.the incident _ . Almost without thinking, Travis lifted a hand to the puncture marks on his neck. He shivered; it had nothing to do with the cool evening breeze around the park bench he planned on making his bed tonight.

He sighed, watching his breath fog up around his mouth. Despite the fact that he was wearing shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt made of thin material, he didn’t feel cold. 

_ Perk of being undead, I guess. _ Not that there were many more.

The... _ creature _ ...that had done this to him must have done something to his mind. Why on Earth would Travis agree to potential immortality otherwise? He wasn’t _ that  _ afraid of the possibility that he’d go to Hell. 

Was he?

Travis’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of light padding. He looked up, and that’s when he finally felt the cold. 

The creature that made his blood freeze walked on two legs, like a human, but its bare toes ended in sharp claws. Its long face was partially hidden by a mane of wild blue hair; what Travis saw was a mix of very dark fur and a mass of scar tissue.

The creature stepped closer to him, and on instinct he squeezed his eyes shut.

Then he heard an all-too familiar voice. “Travis?”

Travis’s eyes snapped open. Through the dark fur and scarring was a familiar bright blue eye. “Sal?”


	21. Animator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis is a tired college student at an art university dealing with that most dreaded of all times...
> 
> Midterms.
> 
> Nothing a late-night pick-me-up can't help, right?

College wasn’t as fun as he’d been expecting. For years, he’d planned his great escape! 

Get into the Christian college his father wanted him to go to, then transfer to the art college that he’d spent months obsessing over. 

Art had been a small, hidden talent of Travis’s. It had been squashed, maimed, torn to shreds, and much worse. His father simply couldn’t understand that his son was an artist. 

However, the attacks stopped when Travis had begun drawing only Jesus, God, bible stories, and real life studies, and allowed his father to scrutinize his drawings from every angle.

His father didn’t need to know about the mass of papers that he kept hidden in his desk in a locked diary; those pages were filled to the brim with sketches from his school surroundings, most notably a boy with blue pigtails.

Travis shook his head.  _ Focus. You only have three hours before this project is due, and when it is, don’t cry when you miss the deadline.  _ **_Again._ **

Travis returned to the project at hand. He scrutinized the two people onscreen; one holding a bouquet of golden roses, the other being shocked and hiding back tears. There wasn’t any other colors than on the roses and the hands of the characters, which he wanted to spread up to the two.

He paused, hand hovering as he looked at the character receiving the flowers.

Their hair was scruffy; their face was extremely expressive. Tears fell down flawless cheeks, they wore skin tight clothes. He hesitated, then drew.

Short, scruffy hair became a long mane of hair, pulled into pigtails. Where did he see those pigtails before…? 

Right, that new trend on that one app. Surely that’s where.

But he still wasn’t satisfied. He took away the character’s tight clothes and gave them baggy clothes, most notably a black sweater. 

On their flawless face, he drew a few faded scars, and made their posture convey their emotions, taking away the expressive face. 

_ Perfect. _

_ But why? _

He didn’t have much time to think. He finished the scenes he’d had, then went back and changed the other character. When he’d at first struggled drawing this character, he suddenly found it easy to move his tablet pen over the tablet, drawing copious amounts of hair, and expressive body language.

He realized he had only minutes before midnight. He finished up the animation, and sent it in just as the clock hit twelve. 

He sighed, setting his tablet pen down and slumping into his chair. 

_ God _ he hated all nighters. Granted, the insomnia helped, but he wished he could sleep.

Taking a brief look over to his coffee pot, he remembered not getting any coffee earlier. He wished he’d remembered that while he’d been out earlier, avoiding his project. 

Well, midnight was as good a time as any to go shopping! 

He picked up his leather jacket, shoved his feet into his boots, and headed out.

 

The gas station within walking distance of the campus was no stranger to late night/early morning visitors. In truth, Travis usually felt surprised whenever he’d come in during the wee hours of the morning to find so many other fellow students drunk, hungover, high, or--like himself--there for a caffeine-ated, sugary pick-me-up for an all nighter. 

It was always sort of an eerie feeling, coming into a gas station when the morning was just starting. Travis’s stress from the project he was procrastinating ( _ no _ , just.. _.taking a break from it,  _ he insisted to himself) dissipated in the atmosphere. There were three students laughing loudly near the soft drink section, two quietly conversing near the sludgie machine, and one other at the coffee maker. 

Clearly he wasn’t alone, then.

It all became a buzzing background noise as he filled a large cup with the hazelnut roast. He was tempted to leave room for cream and sugar, but at the last moment whispered “Fuck it” and filled it up as high as it could go. This morning seemed like a ‘Blacker than Night and Strong Enough to Prop Up a Table’ sort of morning. 

Still in a daze, he almost robotically moved to the register.

And nearly did a double take, shaken out of the revery, when he saw who the cashier was. 

“Sal?”

Sal glanced up upon hearing his name. His eyes going wide behind his mask. Strangely, it wasn’t the prosthetic from the years of high school; instead, it looked like a normal sick mask, which left his fake eye open and the scars around it exposed. 

“Travis?” The blue eyes flashed with a sort of mischief, and a shock that was turning into warmth. “It’s been years!”

“It really has…” Travis rubbed the back of his head. “So what have you been doing lately? Have you just… been working here?”

“Uh, no actually,” Sal gave a small laugh, throwing Travis off when he actually saw Sal’s jaw move along when he spoke. “I just moved here. I wanted to live closer to the city, and to be able to work on my schooling a bit more.”

“Oh, what do you study?” Travis set his coffee on the counter, not noticing as Sal rang it up. 

“I’ve been in science. I’m studying to be a biologist.”

Travis gave him a suspicious stare, a smirk edging its way up his face. “A  _ marine  _ biologist by chance?”

The visible spots on Sal’s face reddened. “How-“

Travis pointed at Sals shirt, which could be seen through his work shirt (it was a button up and Sal apparently never heard of doing his buttons up). There was a dolphin, a shark, and even a turtle. 

“Oh…”

“How did you think I figured that?” Travis picked up his coffee, going to pay for it. 

Sal pushed his hand away, showing how it’d already been paid for. “It’s the hair, to tell you the truth.” 

“Really? Well, maybe the hair can help me convince you to come to one of my animation classes sometime?”

Sal held up a finger, putting a strand of hair to his ear. His eyes shifted back and he overdramatically sighed.

“The hair says it supposed, as long as you gave it an offering before we went.”

“Such as?” Travis took a sip of his coffee, his weariness long forgotten. 

“Hair clips.”

Travis smiled. “I think that can be arranged.” He glanced behind him. “I don’t suppose you sell them here, do you?”

Sal laughed, and Travis found that the smile on his face was no longer a conscious effort. “I wish!” 

“All right then; I’ll buy them elsewhere.” Placing his coffee on the counter, he quickly patted his pockets. “Uh...do you have a pen?” 

Sal wordlessly handed him one. Travis scribbled something on the receipt before handing it back to Sal. “My phone number,” he explained. “Call me before your next shift, and I’ll be there with hairclips.”

“Pretty ones?” Sal asked.

Travis nodded. “Sparkly ones in a bunch of different colors.”

Though Sal’s mouth was still covered, he could tell that his old friend was smiling. “I’m looking forward to it!”

Travis walked back to his dorm completely rejuvenated, all without having taken a single sip of his coffee.

 

The blue glow of his computer screen was his only greeter. Travis didn’t tend to see much of his roommate; there were times he thought he’d like to get to know him better, but right now the solitude suited him just fine.

Because a sudden wave of inspiration hit him as he stared at his tablet stylus. 

He’d already turned his mostly-finished animation project in, but it didn’t matter: his fingers practically had minds of their own as they opened it back up. He changed the taller character, giving him (yes, that was right; it was a him) darker skin and lighter hair. The purple t-shirt he’d given him at first suddenly turned into a long-sleeved one.

He paused for a moment as he stared at the other character. Maybe it was the insomnia and caffeine talking, but right then, everything clicked into place.

Travis took care to leave his (yes,  _ also  _ a him; the pigtails might throw the average viewer off, but Hell with it;  _ he’d  _ know) eyes uncovered, because he’d been doing this long enough to know that the eyes were the windows to the soul.

There needed to be some expressiveness, because right then he drew a mask that covered the lower half of his face. Some of the scars could still be seen, but the nose and mouth were no longer visible.

The time no longer dragged on second by second, but flew past as Travis’s fingers worked with purpose. It was two-fifteen by the time he stopped, saved, then played the animation as a test run.

The pigtailed young man was having a bad day; the world took every opportunity to tell him that everything about him was wrong, from the dark clothing to the effeminate hairstyle. The young man would recover, but it took him longer and longer with each new incident.

The animation video ended with another young man, the tall blond one, handing him a bouquet of gold roses, looking somewhat torn up himself. It was then that the one with pigtails started to cry; not from pain or sadness, but happiness at finally being accepted for who he was. The man holding the bouquet had been wearing an ugly scowl, but at the sight of the other’s tears, he broke out into a relieved smile.

There were a few things to touch up here and there, but Travis’s project had finally come together.

Tired but satisfied, he renamed the save file. “The Happy Couple,” Travis said with a smile.


	22. Fur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Travis Phelps meets an enchanting creature on a walk one late night.

The cold weather wasn’t helping his mood very much. When he and his father had been welcomed to Versailles in an attempt to bribe them to keep quiet about the killing of a rebellion leader, he hadn’t expected it to be so dull. 

Outcast from the others due to his social position and his skin color (racism at its finest). Hell, he was startled when the servants actually spoke to him! 

Nonetheless, he found himself floating from the library, to the frozen pond, to the gardens, all while avoiding his father. 

Apparently, being kind wasn’t in the job description of a priest, and King Louis didn’t care if the new noble boy with the ‘wrong’ skin color showed up to court with a black eye. Boys will be boys!

He’d gotten lost in his thoughts, staring down at the ground as he continued his walk. It was then that he felt the softest touch on his arm he’d ever received in his life. A quick, startled look up revealed a… girl? She appeared to be backing up when he’d glanced up at her. The girl wore a beautiful blue gown; not of the satin or silk, which he’d heard the ladies complaining of constantly as being fabric one shouldn’t wear in the winter. Instead, this one appeared to be made of many layers, all being cotton or wool. The corset pinched the girls waist far too tightly for even Travis to be fine with, and briefly wondered how she could breathe. 

The girl also carried a fur hand-warmer, which she had tucked her gloved hands back into when she’d backed away. Travis’s eyes finally went up to her upper half. 

The hemline was as far up as it could go, buttons keeping the fabric firmly in place under the girls chin. Long sleeves covered her arms, a hat was plopped on top of the long hair that she, strangely, wore down. He looked her in her eyes and couldn’t breathe. 

Shining blue eyes stared at him, remaining calm as he took her in. Her face was horribly scarred. Travis thought for a moment he’d be sick, but the feeling passed when she spoke. 

“I wouldn’t suggest going into the woods.” She moved her head to nod in the direction of the path Travis was taking. Indeed, it led to the very dark and very foreboding forest. 

“Is there a reason?” He gave a brief smile, noting that she was surprisingly just a few shades lighter than he was. Why had he just noticed this?

She used a hand to brush back the strand of hair. “I’ve heard the wolves were around, wandering. Hunting. Foxes are getting very bold as well, from what I hear.”

She was about to walk away, head lowering, when he’d grasped her arm. “May I ask who you are?”

The ‘girl’ went a bit pale, but gave a weak smile. “Promise not to laugh at me?”

“Why on Earth would I do that?” Travis scoffed. 

She remained silent for a brief moment before she looked at him. “My name is Sal. Sal Fisher.”

Travis’s mind didn’t click right away. “Sally?”

“No, just the Sal.”

Now it slapped him. “Oh… oh.  _ Oh.” _

Sal flushed, fiddling with the fur hand warmer. “I dressed up as a lady today because I wanted an escape… and it feels nice, so why not? I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone, but you’ve been rather nice, despite-“

Silence fell. Then, Travis gave a ‘thinking’ hum.

“Well, I’d say you look lovely.”

Sals eyes shone with surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. And if you don’t mind my asking, would you mind accompanying me to the play that shows tonight?”

Sal turned red, but smiled. “I suppose I’d rather like that.”

Travis held out his elbow, which Sal graciously took. 

“Would you like to visit the library in the meantime?”

Sal smiled, the dark fur contrasting sharply with his blue eyes. “I’d always rather liked stories.” 

“Then let us retreat. A fire and cocoa await us.”

Sal of the House of Fisher was a remarkable conversationalist; a skill that had passed by Travis, much to the chagrin of his father, but which didn’t seem to bother his new friend. If anything, it simply gave Sal more of an opportunity to hone his craft while allowing Travis to listen. He even made Travis laugh a few times; genuine laughter that he hadn’t felt in years.

Sal was clearly meant for the life of royalty, Travis thought; there was a part of him that felt like he should be jealous, but he wasn’t.

“And that’s how our export became cloth,” he was explaining. “Considering our house name, you might think it was fish, but no.” Travis watched, fascinated, as Sal took a sip of his cocoa. 

“Your voice sounds familiar,” Travis said thoughtfully. “Have we met before?” He felt guilty for not remembering, if they had, but at this point in his life the endless line of nobles he’d had to meet blurred into one another. 

“Indirectly,” said Sal. “Normally when I’m out and about, I’m wearing a mask. I believe that’s why you didn’t recognize me at first.”

Travis smiled and nodded, all while going through several past memories, trying to remember anyone who’d been wearing a mask. He distantly remembered a member of the Fisher house who wore a haunting white one.

“I think I remember,” he said. “Was your hair blond then?” 

“I was wearing one of my wigs. It was a.. _.suggestion _ from my father. My whole life he’s done his best to make sure I don’t stand out any more than I have to.” Sal laughed without a single trace of humor. “A noble effort, but a futile one.”

Travis drank his own cocoa, feeling somewhat ashamed at his initial reaction to seeing the poor man without his mask for the first time. 

“Your outfit suits you,” is what he decided to say when he set his cocoa down. “How long have you known that you like to dress this way?”

“For years now,” Sal told him. “After the wolf attack that led to the vision of beauty you see before you,” he gestured to his scars with a wry grin, “I realized that I would never be able to go anywhere without drawing some sort of attention to myself. So I tried new things, thinking ‘Why not?’”

“It’s...quite eye-catching,” Travis had to admit. He recognized some of the fabric of the gown and cloak from overseas, while most he recognized had been made by Sal’s own family, all from lessons he’d had to learn in history and how it would relate to his position in the world. He’d never known much about fashion; his whole life, he’d figured he’d leave that to the ladies of the court. Even so, Travis could admit that the ensemble looked quite fetching.

“Yes, but this way, almost no one recognizes me as Lord Fisher.”

“I see. Very clever.” It was here and now that Travis allowed himself to feel jealous. 

Perhaps both their fates were written in stone, but at least one of them could pretend that it wasn’t so with more ease.

Sal eased the conversation away from how he was wearing the clothes not accepted by the general public, and how he wore wigs and such to prevent anyone from recognizing him. 

Instead, he gave a chirpy, “as fun as this is, I understand that you’ll have to leave soon. Would you mind meeting me again sometime?”

A grin slowly made its way over Travis’s face. 

“At every moment; if I can be by your side, I will be.”

Sal grinned in return, taking a small sip. “I’ll be glad.”

The two settled down as the wind picked up, the snow rising and snowing them in. Sal and Travis both quietly worried about those that would starve tonight. Each made a quiet promise to go to the village and pass out food. 

Maybe they can do some good.


	23. Laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of a long, hard day, they always have each other to come home to.

The long day of construction had taken its toll on Travis. His back ached like none other, his jaw was threatening to let all his teeth fall out because he was grinding them when he became stressed or carried heavy things, and his feet felt as if he’d been standing for almost 24 hours.

Oh wait, that last part was true. 

He let the heavy bag fall to the floor next to the door, taking his helmet off and hanging it on the hook. He kicked off his boots and took off his vest as he slowly moved into the apartment.

“Sal?” 

He heard a muffled reply, and moved towards it. The closer he grew to the source of the noise, the smell of lilacs and springtime intensified. 

_ Sal must be doing laundry _ .

Travis was hesitant in moving forward. Last time he’d barged in without asking, he’d startled Sal, and they ended up having to patch up a couple of cuts due to the dropped glass cup.

“Sal?”

“In here!” 

He leaned into the doorway, glancing into the room. It was  _ definitely _ laundry day, judging from all the laundry set about.

And there was his husband, folding shirts as he pulled them from the laundry basket, wearing the sweater Travis had tossed into the hamper a few days ago.

Almost immediately the tension and stress of the day seeped from Travis’s body. One might not have thought that was possible, but in Travis’s experience it was almost impossible not to relax when the scent of lavender was about.

“Productive day, Hon?” he asked with a tired smile. He wasted no time in flopping down on the couch next to his husband, though still being careful not to jostle any of the freshly-dried laundry his husband had just folded.

“Yep! Surprisingly quiet, for once.” Travis saw that Sal had some sort of sitcom on the television.

“What are you watching?” he asked, more to make smalltalk than because he was genuinely interested. 

“Dunno,” said Sal with a shrug, placing a folded pair of Travis’s cargo shorts to one of the other  piles on the coffee table. “Just turned it on for background noise.” It was a little detail Travis had noticed about Sal a long time ago; he didn’t seem to have much patience or comfort for complete silence. The fan they kept in their bedroom was there for white noise to sleep to, rather than keeping either of them cool. 

“Mmm.” Travis leaned heavily against Sal, letting his face fall in the crook of his neck. Sal smelled like a mix of the cucumber melon shampoo he was so fond of, the various lotions he used to treat his face and hands with, and the freshly-washed and dried clothing. Travis absently hoped he didn’t stink too badly of work and sweat from the construction site. 

“How was your day?” Sal asked, nuzzling the top of Travis’s head. The small act of comfort and familiarity didn’t stop him from folding shirts and pants. 

“Don’t really wanna talk about it,” Travis muttered into Sal’s neck. Right then, the work day seemed far away. 

He placed a hand on Sal’s knee and settled there, feeling too comfortable to move ever again. With the softly blaring volume of the television and the calming scents of their apartment, Travis gave into exhaustion and drifted off to sleep.


	24. Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The topic of birth marks comes up in one gym period...

Regardless of what clique you were in or how popular you were at Nockfell High, there was one thing most of the students could agree on. 

Physical Education fucking  _ sucked,  _ especially everything to do with the locker room _. _ None of the showers had hot water for longer than two minutes, the coach did nothing to stop any hazing or hijinx, and of course no one ever  _ really _ got used to having to dress and undress in front of each other.

Travis forced himself to think of good things, like his dog Benji and the church potluck coming up, all while forcing himself to keep his eyes down at his own feet or at his locker or his bag. Anywhere but another living person.  _ Don’t look at the others while they’re changing.  _ Maybe no one would suspect anything, but he didn’t want to give anyone a chance. 

He’d mastered the art of getting ready quickly; he’d gotten into the ugly gym uniform within a matter of seconds. While waiting for their coach, he distracted himself from his distressing thoughts by digging through his bag and pulling out the pamphlets he’d brought. This seemed like as good a time as any to do so, Travis thought; he placed a pile of them next to his seat on the bench, then picked the one on top to begin reading. He’d memorized them by heart, but they still gave him something to do until class started.

“Hey, Travis!”

He nearly leapt a foot in the air at the sound. There was Sally Face, already in the gym uniform. 

“Jeeze, Sal,” Travis puffed. He managed to curve the impulse to insult the other boy, remembering their talk in the boys’ room weeks ago; instead he said “I thought  _ I _ was fast at getting ready.”

“It’s like a super power, right?” asked Sal. Without asking permission first, he sat down next to Travis, as though they were old friends who just  _ did _ such things. Travis didn’t mean to stare, but he did; the right eye that he’d learned a while ago was glass was red today. Beneath the olive green PE shirt, he was wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt. Against his better judgement, he let his eyes wander down to the dark grey shorts they were all forced to wear. It was there that he noticed something on Sal’s left calf; a red mark that resembled a lopsided star.

Without thinking, Travis asked “What’s that?”

“It’s a birthmark,” Sal said with a shrug. “I usually wear pants or leggings; you wouldn’t have noticed before.”

“It’s… strange.”

“What _ isn’t  _ about me?” Sally said teasingly, causing Travis to fluster. 

“I d-didn’t mean-“

“Hey. It’s alright, I’m teasing.” 

This made him settle down. He was constantly on the lookout for his previous bad behavior, and was always worried that he may restart old or bad drama and behavior. 

“Right, right. Still not used to that…” he mumbled.

“I get it, it’s alright.” Sal gave a small hum, which Travis took as a means of moving on.

“Anyways… it looks like a star.” 

“A star, you say?” Sal moved closer, seeming excited despite him being unable to convey it via his face. 

His lanky legs were spread a bit wider to make room for his elbows, which he used to balance his head carefully on his hands, his eyes showing complete interest.

“Well…. not a perfect one, obviously…” he rolled his eyes.

“Of course not.” The eyes closed, and his nodded his head. 

Travis hesitated, then looked to Sal. “Can I?”

“Yeah, go ahead. You don’t have to ask for stuff like my arms and legs and stuff.”

Travis couldn’t stop himself, and immediately regretted his words. “What about hair?”

“Depends. I didn’t know we were in a relationship.” Sals voice was teasing again, but once more, Travis became flustered.

He gave a small huff and traced the small birthmark, talking quietly and showing how it was shaped like a star. 

Sal listened, showing more interest than Travis was used to. Whenever he was home, Travis’s father never showed interest in anything he did other than church things. 

“I like it.” He’d gotten used to touching the area with the birth mark.

“Thank you,” Sal hummed once again.

“It’s  _ way  _ cooler than mine.” The words left Travis’s mouth almost involuntarily.

Sal’s left eye lit up in what Travis could only assume was curiosity. “You have a birthmark, too?”

“Yeah; it’s on my foot.” 

Sal’s head tilted down towards Travis’s green sneakers. “I’ve  _ definitely  _ never seen it before.”

Travis snorted. “Well, yeah; I’m not gonna go around barefoot at school.” 

Sal looked like he was about to say something, but right then the coach’s recognizable knock sounded against the door that separated the boys’ locker room from the gymnasium. Class was about to start, and so the class got up to leave.

They were playing dodgeball that day. Aside from interacting with Sal, who almost seemed to be going out of his way to be friendly since That Day, dodgeball was the one time that Travis ever felt like he had any friends. Lobbing dodgeballs at people as hard as he could was almost therapeutic to him, so naturally he was usually one of the first ones picked for teams. It was always a decent ego boost.

The game started, and Travis promptly entered the Zone; he hit Phillip in his stupid chest as hard as he could, taking him out of the game. Next was the know-it-all kid who sat next to him in English; he was fast, but couldn’t take a hit. There went the quarterback of the football team; it might have been his imagination, but the force of his thrown ball seemed to take the wind right out of him. 

Unfortunately Travis was so invested in what he was doing that he didn’t notice the ball coming in at his left; not soon enough to hold up the ball he currently had in his hands to block it, he took it in his left shoulder.

_ “Damnit!” _ he spat, trudging over to the bench where anyone who was Out had to stay. 

It wasn’t all bad; Sal was standing next to the bench, idly jumping rope. Dodgeball was one of the games Sal had gotten a doctors’ note to get out of. Travis supposed that made sense; if the hastily-glued-up crack in his prosthetic was any indication, Sal probably couldn’t afford any more damage. The coach didn’t seem to mind, so long as Sal still exercised for the period. It seemed to suit Sal just fine, too; from what Travis could see, Sal was a boy who was all right with being left to his own devices.

“That was a good run, Travis,” he said, slightly out of breath. Travis tried not to smile at the sight of Sal’s pigtails bouncing with each twirl of the rope.

“Yeah, but it could’ve been better.” Travis felt a bit breathless, himself. 

“What does your birthmark look like?”

Travis blinked. “What?”

“You mentioned it to me; now I’m curious.”

Travis shook his head. “It’s really nothing, Sal; it’s super boring.” It sure wasn’t shaped like Sal’s marginally more interesting star.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Seriously, what is it?”

Travis leaned back against the wall with a groan. It didn’t seem like Sal was going to let this go. “What, you want me to take off the shoes and socks I’ve been sweating in just now?”

That seemed to make Sal back off. “Yeah, okay; fair enough.” Done with the jump rope for now, Sal began jogging in place. 

Travis would have been content to keep watching him, but almost too soon the coach’s whistle sounded, which signalled that it was time to get back in the game and back to hitting people with balls.

Travis was unaware of Sals eyes that followed his form, unaware of the fact that despite their earlier conversation, Sal had no intentions of letting this go.

The game went well, with Travis only ending up losing three times within the next five games. The mood was good, despite the many playful shoves from others, some of which Travis wished wouldn’t even touch him. Despite this, he took his water bottle and took gentle sips from it, feeling the exhaustion set into his very core. 

He took his time changing, ensuring that he put on deodorant and body spray, quietly beginning to sing a hymn as the locker room cleared out. 

As he turned to the door, stooping to pick up the shirt he’d dropped, he heard the door close.

His eyes flicked up and he saw Sal, standing in front of him, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at him expectantly.

“Yes, Sally Face?” Travis winced at the annoyance he could hear in his voice. 

“What’s your birthmark look like?”

“You still haven’t dropped that yet?”

“Absolutely not. I shan’t. It’s illegal if I do.”

Travis gave a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“You won’t let me out unless I show you?”

“Yup.”

“I’m bigger and stronger than you.”

“I have most of the same classes as you, so you can’t escape me.”

“...” Travis frowned, weighing his options.

On one hand, he could show Sal the birthmark, and be done with it.

However, he could also  _ not _ do that, and have Sal harass him over it. He gave a small scoff, having finished dressing, and snatched the key from Sals hands while he was distracted; by what, Travis wasn’t sure.

“Good luck, then, Sally.”

He unlocked the door to the gym and made his way out, listening to Sal’s indignant stomp of the foot, then the sound of Sal changing,

Travis moved on to math class, which was beginning to make a bit more sense than Sal was at the moment. 

 

The rest of the day was annoying, to say the least. Everywhere Travis turned, there was Sal. 

“What color is it?” he asked in the lunch line.

“What does it matter?” Travis asked gruffly.

“What’s it shaped like?” Sal asked in the hallway outside Travis’s locker. 

“None of your business!” Travis huffed before slamming his locker door shut. 

“Why are you being so defensive?” Sal whispered to him in study hall.

“Why are you being so nosy?” Travis hissed.

He’d been working on controlling his temper ever since that day in the boys’ room; it had been firmly established that day that no one deserved to be on the receiving end of his violent temper, especially Sal. But even so, his annoyance grew and grew throughout the day.

It finally came to a head as he walked home. He grit his teeth as Sal followed him. “Don’t you have your own house to go to?” he spit out.

“Dad’ll be home late and I don’t really have anything I need to do there.” Sal skipped until they were moving side by side. “I’ve got nothing going on; I finished all my work in study hall.”

Travis rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Come on, Travis; why won’t you let me see your birthmark?”

“Why are you so curious about this? It’s just a birthmark!” Sal was being completely ridiculous, Travis thought. 

Of course, so was he. But he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. This whole thing had escalated into something much bigger than he’d intended; it was no longer about being mildly embarrassed about a stupid mark on his foot, but about holding fast to his pride and his steadfastness. He’d started this thing, damnit, and he was going to finish it!

“Is it shaped like a penis?”

“No.”

“Is it purple?”

“No!”

“Come on; you got to see mine!”

Travis’s face grew hot; he desperately hoped no one was around to hear that. It sounded pretty awful out of context. “For fuck’s sake!” he snapped. “Fine!” With that he crouched down and ripped off his sneakers and socks. He’d changed his mind; if this would shut Sal up, the rest of his night would be quieter.

“Happy?” he huffed as Sal stood over him staring. 

“Aw,” he heard from behind the mask, “it looks like a smiley face!”

Travis blinked up at him, brows furrowed, before looking down at the three white marks on his left foot. He didn’t see it, but then again, he’d been looking at it from a different angle his whole life. 

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Satisfied?” He got up and grabbed his socks and shoes, opting to just carry them home. Hell with it; why not walk barefoot? It had been years since he’d done that.

“Very!” Sal said with a nod. Travis was surprised when Sal kept in step with him.

“I showed it to you; why’re you still following me?”

“I still wanna hang out with you.” Something told him Sal was smiling in an annoyingly, adorably genuine way beneath the mask. Travis stared at him blankly for a solid five minutes before sighing. “Okay.”

The rest of the walk was silent, save for the sounds of crickets and cicadas.


	25. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal is Travis's best friend, even if Travis isn't Sal's.
> 
> It's fine; it's okay.
> 
> Really.

You could say that Travis was jealous of the life Sal lived. 

Aside from the many traumas the younger man had faced, he was still ever so happy, and was kind to most anyone. He was also surrounded by friends, and was constantly hanging out with them.

Travis wished he could have been like Sal. It would have made his father’s abuse much easier to deal with if he’d remained ignorant to the real reason as to why he was being treated like the trash stuck to his father’s foot. 

But that had all changed during their junior year. That talk in the bathroom had lead to Sal inviting Travis to everything--sleepovers, parties, hanging out even! Just plain hanging out in one area for an unspecified amount of time!

Travis was happy, and willing to risk lying to his father. He was willing to risk embarrassment by telling the others to pretend to be talking about church if anyone came by. 

Everyone was understanding. Sal had encouraged Travis to tell the others why he’d been such an asshole, and everyone was more than understanding. 

Ashley forgave him for calling her a bitch, calling him one right back as she got him into a chokehold and gave him a noogie. 

Todd did his usual far-away acceptance nod, with Neil giving Travis a smile for opening up.

Larry… well, they were still working on that. The older man hadn’t forgiven Travis for punching Sal. Every time Sal glanced away, Travis could see the glare that was tossed his way. It made him nervous, so he always gave Larry a wide berth when they were alone. 

But something was nagging at the back of Travis’s mind. As much as he and Sal hung out, he could never shrug off the feeling that he just… wasn’t as stretched to Travis as Travis was to him. 

Travis was tentative when he approached Sal that day, looking at him.

“Hey, Sally- I mean, Sal.” 

Sal gently set his book down, lifting his mask a bit to show Travis that he was smiling. “Yes, Trally- I mean, Travis?”

This made him crack a smile, and he relaxed a bit. “I was wondering- who’s your best friend?”

“Oh. Uhh…” Sal cleared his throat. “Does it really matter? I love  _ all _ my friends.”

Travis ignored the butterflies he felt in his stomach at the fact that Sal had just inadvertently said that he loved him, and focused more on what he was refusing to say. “Maybe it doesn’t matter, but I’m still curious. Hand twisted behind your back, being forced to answer on pain of death...who would you say is your best friend?”

He heard a heavy sigh behind the prosthetic. “Pain of death? Well...okay. Fine; I guess I’d have to say that Larry’s my best friend.” He paused before quickly adding “Hand twisted behind my back.”

The answer wasn’t a surprise at all; ever since high school had started, Sal and Larry had practically been attached at the hip. They always seemed to be in synch; they always had each others’ backs in the classes they shared. Hell, they even lived in the same building; Travis could only imagine how much time they spent together at home. 

He nodded. “Thought so; just making sure.”

Something about the tone of his voice must have tipped Sal off about something, because he then put a hand on Travis’s upper arm. “That doesn’t mean we’re not close,” he said. “I mean it; I care about all my friends. I’d die for you.”

That made Travis laugh. “All right, all right; I believe you,” he said, while secretly thinking  _ But I hope you never do. _

Travis had his answer. Everything was fine.

_ Really. _ It  _ was _ .

Travis kept telling himself this as he noticed Larry stifle a laugh at something Sal said over lunch. Travis didn’t get it; it must have been some inside joke between the two of them.

He kept telling himself this when he got off the bus. He didn’t miss how Larry took his place in the seat next to Sal.

He even told himself this on a day when Sal moved sluggishly and the bags under Larry’s eyes were darker and larger than normal. When he asked about it, Sal told him that he and Larry had had an impromptu sleepover the night before. 

It was all fine, Travis told himself, all while ignoring the voice deep down inside him wondering  _ Would _ we _ have sleepovers on weeknights if I lived in their building? _

It was decided, a week later, that Travis would try and put it behind him. He’d mulled on it too long, and his father was beginning to suspect something judging from the stare he’d received that day. 

Or at least… it  _ would _ have been.

To summarize, he and Sal had been dragged into a mystery involving the cult, and it ended with them being placed in front of a mystical being, who asked them a simple question.

“Who do you love most?”

Travis was ready to scream; he knew who  _ he _ loved, of course, who  _ his _ best friend was, but to consider that they were mere feet from their freedom, to taste the sweet fresh air.

It was  _ maddening. _

Travis had gone first. 

“Sal. It’s always been Sal; he was nice to me, he cared for me when no one did, he  _ forgave  _ me when I shouldn’t have been forgiven, he let me hang out with him, we had sleepovers, he…. he’s my best friend.”

Travis kept his eyes down. Of course he knew the answer to Sal’s question. 

His hands remained chained, and he kept his head down, waiting patiently to hear Sal’s words, hear them shatter his hope into a thousand pieces. He waited to be hurt once again.

“Travis!”

Travis blinked, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, confused. What was Sal doing? He was supposed to be answering the question! 

Sal didn’t answer him; he was still staring at the being before him, an ethereal apparition that was equal parts beautiful and terrifying. “I’m in love with Travis!” 

The nightmarish world seemed to freeze around them. Sal was looking down at his hands. Though Travis couldn’t see his expression, he could tell how Sal was feeling by how he fidgeted with his fingers. “I’ve felt it for a while, now...ever since I realized how he felt about me.” The being hadn’t asked for any explanations, so Travis supposed that Sal wasn’t saying any of this for its benefit.

“You knew?” Travis asked softly.

Sal’s only answer was a shrug. 

Their answers seemed to satisfy the spectre; the streamers of light flowing from its body unraveled and expanded until Travis could see nothing but blinding white.

They were back in the room where the cultists had ambushed them. They lay around them, completely still. Possibly dead, though they could’ve also been unconscious. Travis didn’t want to stay there long enough to find out; without thinking, he grabbed Sal’s hand and ran.

They wound up in a forest near their school. Travis leaned down to catch his breath, planting his hands on his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw Sal lean against a tree to do the same thing.

“Did you mean what you said?” Travis asked between gasps. It was a stupid question; he suspected that that spiritual whatever-the-fuck-it-was wouldn’t have let them go if either of them had lied.

Sal didn’t answer for what felt like the longest time. When Travis stood back up, Sal was looking down, seeming to find his worn sneakers particularly interesting.

“Sal?” He stepped closer; there was only a foot of space between them.

“Yes.” The skin that was visible around Sal’s eyes seemed to be turning pinker than normal. “I didn’t say anything because I figured you needed a friend more than a...a…” 

Travis inched closer to him. Sal finally looked up. 

“Besides, if your dad found out...I mean...I didn’t want to get you in any more trouble with him…”

Travis slowly lifted his hands, moving them towards the back of Sal’s head, being mindful of any signs of protest on Sal’s part. When there were none, he unbuckled the bottom strap of the prosthetic. 

He didn’t lift the thing all the way up; just enough to reveal Sal’s lips. The top lip was heavily scarred, worse on the right side than the left, but the bottom was relatively untouched; perfectly full and soft.

The kiss was short and a bit clumsy; it took Travis a few seconds to turn his head just right so neither his nose or Sal’s mask would get in the way. Sal’s top lip was as rough as it looked; his lower lip was even softer than Travis had thought. 

He didn’t really want to pull away, but he did, also wanting to see Sal’s face. There was a lovely rosy flush showing beneath the prosthetic. Travis gulped at the sight. “So,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“So,” repeated Sal, sounding just as breathless as Travis felt.

“Now what?”

Sal put his hands on Travis’s shoulders. The prosthetic had slipped back down, so Travis couldn’t see his smile, but he was fairly certain it was there. “Now we give the whole ‘dating’ thing a try?”

“Yeah,” Travis murmured, lowering his head to the right side of Sal’s neck. “That sounds good…” With that, he continued kissing.


	26. Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The son of King Phillip and Queen Aurora meets the son of Maleficent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all BJD's idea; it was inspired by Ever After High.

“You’re trying to place me.”

Travis blinked his glowing eyes. “Excuse me?” he quickly said, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

The person’s eyes met his. They wore a mask; they shouldn’t have looked familiar to him at all. But there was  _ something _ about that long blue braid that Travis felt like he should recognize…

“You’re wondering who my parents are.” The person brushed long blue bangs from their left eye. Travis realized that the blue was dyed; the roots were a blond paler than his own long hair. “Right?”

Uncertain of how else to respond, Travis nodded dumbly. He was certain the movement made his hair move, probably making the curved horns at the top of his head that much more obvious. 

“My name is Sal.” The name didn’t help Travis to discern whether the person before him was a boy or a girl. Of course, in their particular world, he supposed it didn’t matter; not when a large number of sentient beings around them had fangs or tails or wings. 

“Travis,” he responded. Perhaps his mother was a villain, being the Queen of All Darkness, but she  _ had  _ raised him to be evil, not rude. “I’m Maleficent’s son.” He couldn’t really hide the evidence, so why bother lying about it?

“I’m Aurora and Phillip’s.” 

Travis blinked. “You mean  _ Queen _ Aurora and  _ King _ Phillip?” The woman his mother had once cursed because she hadn’t been invited to her christening and the man who had saved her had had a child who was now standing before him? 

Something Travis had long suspected was true. Fate really _ did  _ enjoy playing cruel jokes on him.

“The one and only.” Sal’s voice was light hearted, which Travis did honestly expect.

What he  _ hadn’t  _ been expecting was the choice of clothes that Sal was choosing to wear. Considering Sal’s parents, Travis’s first thought was pink, blue, lace, and maybe even a bit of a corset. After all, that’s what Ashley did, and she was the daughter of Cinderella.

“So your parents are them.”

“Yes.”

“And they’re letting you wear  _ those?” _ Travis’s black eyes traveled down the other’s form.

Sal seemed to grow flustered, although his tone remained cool. “I happen to like the villainous styles. There’s too much pink and lace with everyone else.”

“And you decided that black, purple and chains would suit you better?” Travis’s mouth curved into a smile, causing Sal to take a step back.

Nice so far or not, this  _ was  _ Maleficent's son he was chatting with. It wasn’t a good idea to have his guard down.

“So what are you doing, standing over here by yourself?” Sal leaned on the nearly-ruined stone fence that was a few steps from Travis. 

“Oh, I’m going to the school over there.” Travis motioned to the school, a bit embarrassed that he was having to explain. “They’re having that whole ‘mix up’ deal, and I suppose I’ve fallen through the cracks…”

Sal seemed surprised, judging from how his shoulders raised and the way his hands curled into the stone.

“Well, you should come sit with me at lunch!” Sal’s tone returned to kind, tinged with excitement. “I mean, if you’d like.” 

Travis gave him a hesitant pause, before blurting out what he was truly thinking. “Are you sure? My mom _ did _ kinda try to kill your parents…”

“So?” Sals head tilted, brushing his bangs back once more. “That’s  _ their _ problem, not ours.”

This was honestly very startling. Travis ran his thumb over his lower lip, thinking it over. 

“Please?” Sals voice made him look over once again, and he gave an exasperated laugh. 

“Well, how can I say no? You said ‘please.’” Travis  pushed himself off the tree he’d been leaning on, a small, but nonetheless genuine smile playing on his lips. “I’d be truly evil if I turned down such an opportunity.”

Sal just laughed at that before moving onto his next class for the day, leaving Travis to do the same.

The short amount of time that Travis had spent at this school had made it painfully clear to him that he wasn’t going to fit in. Most of the students here were sons and daughters of heroes, not villains; it didn’t matter how pristine he kept his hair or how clean he kept his clothes, he couldn’t do anything to hide his horns. People took one look at them, decided he must be evil, and gave him a wide berth.

He hadn’t even wanted to be a villain. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault that Maleficent was his mother.

As he caught glimpses of Sal through the day, though, he realized he wasn’t the only one. Despite the fact that Sal’s parents had been a hero and a heroine, the eerie mask and dark clothing kept everyone around them at bay, too. 

Despite his earlier discouragement, hope welled up in Travis’s heart. Maybe he wasn’t alone, after all. 

Being an outcast felt a little easier, now that he knew he wasn’t the only one.

When they saw each other again, they were in the cafeteria. True to their word, when Sal’s eyes met Travis’s, they waved a hand, motioning for him to sit down next to him.

It was only after he did so that he did a double-take. Cinderella’s daughter Ashley sat there. She looked somewhat out of place at the crowded table; to her right was a dark-skinned, freckled girl with silver hair who wore an ensemble in colors similar to Sal’s. To her left was a handsome boy with incredibly dark skin and a strong, dimpled chin; when she said something that made him laugh, Travis saw fangs among his pearly white teeth. 

And to Sal’s other side was Larry.  _ Great... _ Travis thought. Larry was Snow White’s son. They’d known each other since they were children. 

They had not gotten along. 

If Sal noticed the sudden tension between them, though, they didn’t say anything about it. “Glad to see you again!” 

Travis saw Larry nudge Sal in the side with a sharp elbow. “You know this guy, Man?”

_ Man, _ Travis noted. So underneath the pigtails and lace, Sal was really a boy. That was good to know; while fashions and roles were available to more people in their world, it was still polite to not misgender them. 

“Yep! That a problem, Larry?” Travis was impressed; there was a new edge to Sal’s voice as he asked that question.

Larry glared at Travis, but shook his head. “Guess not.” Though, when Sal bent his head down to pick up a forkful of food, Larry pointed to him with two fingers, then back to himself.  _ I’m watching you. _

Aside from that, the rest of the meal was pleasant. Travis got to meet the rest of Sal’s friends; the girl with silver hair was the daughter of the princess who was able to feel a pea beneath several mattresses. Her name was Maple, and she was dating a plump boy with green hair. He was the son of Hansel. The boy with fangs was Neil, a vampire. Not the son of Dracula, but of another vampire Travis had never heard of. He was boyfriends with Todd, a tall, round werewolf covered in red and brown curls. He suspected that he wasn’t the son of the Wolf Man, but of another werewolf. 

Seeing the two couples gaze at each other fondly between bouts of conversation and putting hands on hands and shoulders and knees put a longing deep in Travis’s heart; one he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

Without thinking, he looked at Sal, whose pigtails wiggled as he laughed at something Chug said.

He could feel his heart skip a beat, but quickly brushed it off, thinking it silly that such a thing as  _ pigtails  _ (very  _ specific _ pigtails, mind you) was making him smile.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, however, when Sal nudged Travis with a small elbow jab, looking at him with surprisingly blue eyes.

“Hey, your food is turning black. You alright?”

“Is it?” Travis looked to his food, and shockingly enough, it was.

Larry has become tense, nudging himself away from the slowly-expanding inky blackness that was now beginning to drop to the plate, akin to ink.

“What even  _ is _ that stuff?” The man scoffed, drawing Sal and Travis’s attention.

Ash remained unaware of anything wrong, and Maple was more focused on her own food. 

“My guess--“ Travis said in a cool voice, “is that it’s normal black food dye.”

“Food dye?! Yeah, right; it’s probably poison.” 

Sal turned to chastise Larry, but Travis made a noise of acceptance.

“You’d think that, but Mom was more the ‘poison anyone I don’t like’ person. When I get nervous or something, it’s more innocent; black food dye, peppers, I once even summoned a bag full of black-colored candy. Tasted divine, by the way.”

“You mean you can eat that?!” Larry folded his arms. “Maybe poison doesn’t work on whoever creates it!”

“Larry!” Sal finally spoke loud enough for the other two to notice, and Travis noticed that Sal had taken up a fingerful of the inky-black substance.

“Sal, hold on now, what if he’s right?” Travis said this hastily, not having thought of it before. 

Now that he was, he was terrified.

“Then call the nurse for me.” Before either could move, Sal lifted his mask and licked off the black substance.

Everyone froze; Travis had a look of horror and sadness in his face, Larry was angry, trying to get at Travis. He was being held back by Neil, who was telling them both to wait.

“It tastes like… cotton candy.” Sal sounded genuinely surprised, and was promptly grabbed by Ash (whom had finally taken notice) and was dragged to the nurse’s office.

Travis went to follow, with Larry constantly trying to yell at him to stay back. 

A deep melancholy filled Travis; his first day, and he might have just killed his new friend. Or, in a lighter situation, have poisoned him.

 

“Well, you’re fine. Other than the possibility of a cavity, nothing is wrong with you.”

The nurse had been gentle and sweet, even to Travis. Sal was, in the meantime, swinging his feet on the stool, happily humming a song as he ate a lollipop he’d been given by said nurse.

“Please, Sal, do be careful with eating strange things that come from the hands of a villain.”

“I’m uh… trying not to be a villain….” Travis murmured.

The nurse seemed surprised, but smiled. “Well then! Don’t eat strange things from strangers.”

“Got it.” Sal nodded, going over to Larry and looping their elbows, going to Travis and repeating the process. “See, I’m fine. Making a fuss over nothing.”

He scoffed, biting on the lolly under his mask, tossing the stem away and replacing his mask to its previous position. 

“Now, c’mon. On to Divination.”  

The more of Sal that Travis saw, the less he understood. 

He desperately wanted to, though, so he walked in step with him on the way to class. “You see something that might be poison and you just...put it in your mouth?” He would’ve thought that, as often as poison showed up in stories of their parents,  _ not _ eating things that looked off would’ve been common sense.

Sal just shrugged. “Life’s too short to worry about every little thing. It could’ve been poison, but chances were equally likely that it was some sweet cotton candy-type thing.” He patted Travis’s shoulder. “It’s a heck of a power, by the way. Use it wisely!”

Travis couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Will do!” He bit his lip. The door to their next class was getting closer and closer with every step; it wasn’t like they wouldn’t have time to continue talking today or tomorrow or a week from how, but he still felt compelled to say what he wanted to say as soon as possible. “It’s just...my family’s caused yours enough trouble. It would’ve sucked if I killed you, even accidentally.” 

Sal was quiet as they turned the corner. Divination Class was only a few doors down. So Travis was surprised when Sal grabbed his hand and took him across the hallway into a room he’d never been in before. As Sal closed the door behind them, Travis called on some old magic to conjure a glowing orb. The bright green light showed him that they were in a custodian’s closet.

“What the--?” he started; to say he was confused would be an understatement.

“Can I show you why I wear this?” Sal pointed at his mask.

Uncertain of how else to respond, Travis nodded rather dumbly.

Sal reached behind his head; Travis recognized the sound of a metal buckle being fiddled with. Sal then gripped the sides of the mask, making Travis realized that his nails were painted in alternating black and purple, and lifted.

Travis couldn’t help the gasp that left his mouth. Sal’s face was a mess of rough dark scar tissue and missing bone. He had no nose or right eye; the veins around the most damaged parts of his face shone black in the sickly light. 

“The Big Bad Wolf did this to me when I was little. They tried to fix it, magically, but uh...well, you know he’s no ordinary wolf. This was the best they could do.” It was a sight to behold, watching Sal speak with the jagged line that was his mouth, hearing his voice completely clear for the first time. “I didn’t prick myself on a spinning wheel; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Sal was still capable of smiling, although it wasn’t a happy one. “Maleficent cursing my mother didn’t even have anything to do with her; she was just angry that other fairies were invited when she wasn’t.” 

Travis scratched the back of his neck rather sheepishly. “She always  _ was _ petty,” he admitted. He was used to the silent treatment and having to interact with her familiars and minions instead of her.

Sal shrugged. “None of it was  _ your _ fault; I just think my family was cursed. Bad things keep happening to us. I think, if I was meant to be dead, I  _ would _ be by now.” He put a hand on Travis’s shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. It was a piercing look that felt like it had made contact with Travis’s soul. “We’re not our parents; just because your mom is evil doesn’t mean  _ you  _ are. I mean…” Sal laughed, completely devoid of humor. “My mom is known as Sleeping Beauty, and here I am, looking like... _ this.”  _

Travis rapidly shook his head. “Please don’t say that. I think you’re…” He stopped short of saying ‘beautiful’ or even ‘pretty.’ For one thing, they’d just met earlier that day; he was pretty sure they weren’t at that particular point in their relationship. And for another, Sal was clearly aware of how he looked; what if he thought Travis was being condescending? He knew, from personal experience, how infuriating it was to be spoken down to. “Er...well, I like your face,” he finished lamely. “But even if I didn’t, you still seem like a great person. I...I’d like to get to know you better.” 

He saw Sal smile for the first time, and he knew it. He was falling in true fairy tale love. “I’d like that, too.”


	27. Some Rain Must Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladin Phelps finds something unusual on one of his rounds. 
> 
> Or: the Fallout AU no one asked for, but is now getting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written only by me, born of a single stupid spark that hit my stupid brain, then blew up into roughly 4000 words of a fire. It happens. *shrug*

In Paladin Phelps’s defense, he’d been incredibly startled.

It wasn’t even a good defense, at that; the whole area around the trading line that connected Camp Dawson to Morguetown was  _ nothing, _ if not full of startling things. The wildlife consisted of large wild rats of all sorts, wild dogs, radstags, yao guai, and every so once in a while, dreaded deathclaws. Aside from that were robots that had gone haywire, supermutants, feral ghouls, and of course, the most dangerous of all: _ man _ . Carnage caused by a deathclaw was at least understandable; at the end of the day it was a wild animal. But the carnage caused by raiders…Paladin Phelps would have thought he’d become numb to such things, but here he was, still having trouble sleeping.

That these dangers existed in the first place was already something to behold, but there were actually bits and pieces of civilization that still existed here and there, like the small but tight-knit community of Nockfell over in Morguetown, who were in need of protection and preservation. 

Centuries ago, the United States had been worried about nuclear bombs wiping out the entirety of life on Earth, or even just the continent. And yet, here they all were; so much life was still around. So much _ chaos. _

There was always  _ something  _ going on somewhere in the wasteland. If there was one thing Travis could say about being born into the Brotherhood of Steel, it was that there was always something to do. 

There was never a dull moment.

He made the mistake of thinking otherwise on one of his rounds. 

Paladin Phelps had been so familiar with the route that he hadn’t bothered asking any of his brothers or sisters in arms to accompany him. 

This particular time, the barn he passed every time he took this route looked empty. It wasn’t anything unusual. 

What _ was  _ unusual was the music he heard coming from it.

It was a slow tune; steady and soothing. Much like the music that had been scavenged from old records and holo tapes that the radiation from times past hadn’t burnt to ash.

The thing was, it had sounded so _ different. _ As though it  _ weren’t  _ a recording taken ages ago...as though it  _ weren’t _ being played over a radio, like he’d grown up listening to. The Brotherhood of Steel encouraged, taught, and even enforced certain talents and skills to its members from the minute they were brought, screaming and blood-drenched, into their metallic walls. Translating, typing, hacking, hand-to-hand combat, target practice with laser and plasma weaponry their kind was destined to guard with their lives…

Somehow, singing and guitar-playing had never made their way into any of those.

So Paladin Phelps, intrigued, had followed the sound. It would be a few days before he had to meet the people in Morguetown; he had time.

The Brotherhood tended to get around by relying on presence and appearance; it was less brave and outright stupid to go up against a group of trained soldiers wearing power armor with nuclear weapons strapped to their backs, after all. Yet, despite this, Paladin Phelps had learned how to be stealthy. He made the heavy metal work with him as he crouched and counted his steps; as he took the wooden stairs up to the loft step by step, the music grew louder and louder.

A guitar played as a deep, raspy voice uttered words to an old song Paladin Phelps knew by heart. “Into each life, some rain must fall, but too much, too much, is fallin’ in mine…”

He recognized the voice, and rolled his eyes.  _ Johnson... _ He’d been brought up to believe that anything that had thrived and mutated to survive in the radioactivity that surrounded him shouldn’t exist. Lawrence ‘Larry’ Johnson, of Nockfell, was one such being. A year or two ago, he’d merely been a human who’d suffered from an exceptionally huge dose of radiation. He hadn’t died, like his poor mother and sister had so worried about. Instead he’d become a ghoul; most of the long hair he’d painstakingly spent years growing out had fallen out, he’d lost most of his large nose, and most of the flesh he’d had on the top of his face and arms had fallen off, revealing muscle. Despite all that, he’d still proven to be a huge asset to Morguetown, displaying excellent hunting and gathering skills in order to provide his community with the food and clothing they all needed, as well as a decent protector against common wasteland threats.

Paladin Phelps had left him alone after learning of his fate; The Brotherhood of Steel existed for the good of mankind, whether everyone realized it or not, and Larry was better off alive than dead for the sake of his family and friends. 

That didn’t mean Paladin Phelps had to like it. It was almost less that Larry was a ghoul, and much more that his personality was so _ grating _ . Even before he’d undergone that tragedy, Larry hadn’t liked him.  Which had suited Paladin Phelps just fine. He hadn’t liked  _ him _ either, even less so now.

It was just Johnson, on one of his own patrols. Nothing out of the ordinary. Paladin Phelps made to leave him to it, but then another voice sounded. One he’d never heard before.

“Into each heart, some tears must fall, but some day the sun will shine!”

As he reached the top of the staircase, Paladin Phelps carefully took in his surroundings. A gas-based lantern was in the middle of the floor; he didn’t have a clear view of Johnson from here, but he  _ did  _ see a black, red, and brown shape where he should be.

The current source of the noise, though, was something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Bright blues shone against the brown, green, and grey that made up the otherwise dead scene around his vision. The figure’s shoulder-length hair was pulled up into a pair of pale blue pigtails. Paladin Phelps let his gaze linger on the bare skin of the back of the figure’s neck before letting him take in the details of the vault suit they were wearing. Gold numbers stood out starkly against the deep blue of the jumpsuit: they read 123.

_ A vault dweller! _ It had been a long,  _ long  _ time since Paladin Phelps had seen one of those. The figure’s shoulders and arms were moving as they sang: he realized, with no small amount of awe, that it was an actual, real-life, bona fide acoustic guitar they were playing. 

They were the one singing right now, and it was  _ so lovely.  _

Without thinking, Paladin Phelps placed a heavy metal-clad hand on the figure’s shoulder, gently as he could.

The song stopped short, and the little blue-clad figure quickly turned around.

And Paladin Phelps was broken out of the reverie by the sight of the raw red scar tissue that made up the figure’s face. There was no nose, no eyebrows, and the jagged red line that made up their mouth now formed a surprised O.

Struck back to years of training, Paladin Phelps ripped the plasma rifle from his back and thrust the muzzle just beneath the figure’s chin.

“Whoa,  _ whoa!” _ exclaimed the person; despite the effeminate way they’d been carrying themself just before, the voice that escaped that mouth was distinctly male-sounding.  _ “Easy!” _

The brief dip into Paladin Phelps’s instincts were brought down at the sound of his voice. 

Then it briefly rose again at the sight of an old but lovingly tended-to hunting rifle right in his own face. _ “Drop it.” _ There was Johnson. Up close, his mug was that much uglier as it glared right into his eyes. 

Still, after a few tense seconds, Paladin Phelps realized there was no real danger at the very moment. So he did as Johnson told him, much as he hated to do so. “I apologize,” he said, immediately trying to regain composure. “I thought you were a ghoul.”

Johnson had lowered his own weapon, but his glare hadn’t let up. “So’m I. What’s your point?”

“There wasn’t one,” Paladin Phelps admitted. He could admit when he was in the wrong; his father had all but beaten that humility into him. “I was...shocked. I wasn’t expecting your... _ friend _ ...to look like _ that. _ ” He finally looked back at the vault dweller, who still had his hands up.

“I’m not a ghoul, but…” Despite the vulnerable position he’d just been forced into, the stranger still looked irked. “That shouldn’t mean anything. Larry here’s just a person, after all; I’ve met a lot of others out here like that, too.”

Paladin Phelps didn’t have a good response to that. He merely placed the rifle back on his shoulders with a “Hmph.” As he did so, the stranger gingerly placed his guitar down before grabbing what looked like a decades-old gas mask and placing it on his face. 

In the slight scuffle, the lantern was knocked down. Apparently the sound of glass against old, rotted wood was enough to raise the attention of every radioactive abomination within yards of the old building. 

All three men cursed before getting to the very tedious work of clearing the barn of all hostiles for what was probably the millionth time since Paladin Phelps had seen it for the first time on his first patrol.

Naturally, once things were clear, the first words spoken were from Johnson. “Nice goin’, Asshole,” he rasped.

Paladin Phelps glared at him, but refused to dignify his words with a reply. Instead, he tilted his head down in order to make eye contact with the blue stranger. “You really held your own back there,” he said. He didn’t bother trying to sound anything other than impressed. “When did you, uh…” Was there a polite way of asking when someone had emerged from a hole in the ground? Paladin Phelps didn’t think so.

“About a week ago,” admitted the stranger. The digitization of his voice suited him surprisingly well, Paladin Phelps thought, as did the mask that might have made anyone else look spooky. “My dad and I escaped, because, uh...Well, it’s kind of a long story.” 

Paladin Phelps simply nodded. He understood;  _ everyone _ had a long story nowadays. He was fairly certain there would be better places and times to discuss it. “I see. You were fortunate; there are a lot of safe places near that particular vault.” He didn’t mention the fact that, when he’d seen it for the first time as a child, he’d  _ so desperately _ wanted to know what was inside. Or the bitter disappointment he’d felt when not even the most skilled hackers and locksmiths amongst their order hadn’t been able to open its door.

“Me and mine took ‘em in,” said Johnson, shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat. “He’s, uh...done right by us.” The ghoul almost looked shy as he said this.

“I saved him from a pack of mole rats.” Paladin Phelps heard the smile in the stranger’s voice, rather than saw it.

“Yeah; exactly.” 

It was a story that was both heart-warming  _ and _ satisfying; a stranger new to the ways of the wasteland had saved yet another stranger, which proved that humanity truly was worth saving. Plus, Johnson had come out of it embarrassed.  Paladin Phelps hadn’t even been present for that, and his day had just been made.

“Sounds like you’ve already made a name for yourself, Stranger,” the paladin told the vault dweller. “What’s your name?”

“Sal,” he said. “Sal fisher.”

Paladin Phelps had seen the stranger’s face, and it had caused nothing but chaos for him. It was only fair if Sal could see  _ his _ face, in turn. So he removed his helmet, revealing his dark skin, light hair, and tired eyes.

“Paladin Travis Phelps,” he said. “But you can call me Travis.”


	28. Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Phelps notices a light on in the old, abandoned Addison Apartments building one night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains frightening imagery and discussion of murder, both of people and animals.

_ This is it. I’ve finally been told by the Lord that I must put my life on the line in order to put his name to the test. To… to.. Actually, what am I doing? _

Travis had been minding his own damn business when the night’s events turned. 

Church had been let out hours ago. He’d stayed behind for a long while, chatting nicely with the staff and cleaning up after the sermon. It had taken so much time that Travis was now running late, getting home as the sun set. 

 He’d been so determined to read the Bible for the umpteenth time, his notepad tucked safely under his elbow and his pen held in his hand, ready to take notes so he could preach the Lord’s word that upcoming Wednesday.  

The fire had roared, keeping the darkness at bay. The rain outside was howling and screeching, although Travis had paid it no mind. 

Despite all the warmth, it was all quickly brought down when he happened to glance out the window. 

Addison Apartments had a light on in one of its many windows. 

This wouldn’t be an issue, were it not for the fact that Addison Apartments had been abandoned for  _ decades,  _ ever since Travis' fathers' time; this was saying a lot, considering that his father was dead by three years now.

He stood up quickly, thoughts of vandals and no-good criminals filling his head. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he was sure that it wouldn’t be the last; after all, the Apartments were the center of many rumors in this small town. He’d found, on more than one occasion, children within the rooms that were far too furnished, rooms forever trapped in the time they’d been abandoned. 

A deep sigh escaped him as he laid the Bible tenderly on his nightstand. He trodded over to the coat rack, carefully removing his jacket.  Maybe if he showed up in his preachers’ clothing, the children or teenagers would be startled away from the horrible apartments. 

The howling that had been so muffled before turned into a screaming match the moment he stepped outside, holding his umbrella carefully to ensure the rain didn’t hit him, even with the odd tilt of the rain. His hand instinctively reached for his cross that hung around his neck, and he gave a brief prayer to the Lord that he should be protected from the rain and mud, which was likely to trip him. 

The yellow glow of the light drew him to the old, decrepit building, closer to the tumbling bricks and the ivy-choked windows. It was a beacon that was calling for him, and he was answering its call as he stepped over bits of rust-covered metal that had long been twisted out of shape by teenagers.

The sense of uneasiness grew within Travis as he crossed the property line, all the rumors and memories coming back to him. 

Years ago, the Addison Apartments had been a very welcoming place. Families would move in and wouldn’t move out for years, adoring the atmosphere and the scenery that came with it. Kids were born, raised, and left that Apartments, heads full of memories about wonderful childhoods. 

There was always a smell of baking, the sound of neighbors chatting, future hope that was being brought in and sent out of the area, and it always left a sweet taste in many tenants’ mouths, along with their guests and children. 

Toys would litter the lawn, and there was even a treehouse built into the tree in the back, invoking more children to come about and play. 

Of course, this happiness didn’t last. 

Depending on who you asked, it was either a father or a son that went insane, going to every apartment and murdering the tenants. It was a random, senseless act, taking the lives of many, including children and mothers, both men and women alike. They started at the bottom, forcing panicked residents that were still alive to flee upwards, some falling to their deaths below rather than facing the knife. The killer had watched them, and some claimed that the killer felt remorse, saying that they hadn’t meant to, didn’t want to, and  _ had  _ to. 

After all this, the police broke into the room the killer had locked himself in, only to find that he, too, had fallen prey to his knife. A letter detailing why he’d done what he’d done laid next to him, although the contents remained secret to the public. 

No one survived. 

It was such a tragedy that instead of cleaning up after the mess and cleansing the area, they had chosen to condemn the building, restricting access to the police, the reporters,  _ everyone.  _

Police patrolled the area for five years after the events, before the patrols became less common, and they soon faded from the memories of the city. 

Storms passed, destroying much of the property, opening rooms to decay and destruction. Oddly, no wildlife had been spotted near the apartments the entire time Travis had lived in his cozy cabin, despite the Apartments being close to where many would find it common to see a wild animal or two. 

Instead, part of the Apartments remained intact, left exactly as they had been that day, bloodstains and all. 

The other half was falling apart, trees having fallen through the structure, wind and rain tearing away at the wood and stone. For a brief second, Travis looked over at this part, and swore he could’ve seen a poster for an old band that had since disbanded into their own careers. 

Travis wasn’t sure when it even happened, but it seemed that citizens from the city had forgotten every detail of the Apartments. Even those whom had been alive during the tragedy couldn’t recall what exactly had occurred, just that it happened. 

The names of the victims fell through the cracks of time, with meticulous digging needing to be done to find one, let alone all. The amount of victims was also lost, although Travis vividly remembered his father cursing the killer, fanning him to remain in the abandoned building for “destroying the lives of all 13 children”. If Travis thought hard enough, he’d remember faintly that the number of victims was in the 30s. 

Travis’s mouth thinned into a line, and he found the door that had been busted in by a group of teenagers three years prior. The doorway that it had been in now held a faint light, which Travis followed. 

The path to the apartment was normally very clean; upkeep was important to the community. But that changed when he stepped over the property line; surrounding the entire apartment were empty bottles, far too much litter, graffiti cans that had been emptied, it’s contents displayed on the wall of the Apartments. 

Vile words, some including such vulgar language that made Travis feel a bit faint, some calling for the devil to be invoked. Pentagrams, the number 666, some parts were even half-done, as if they’d started and never finished it.

As he walked, Travis could feel the remnants of beer bottles cracking under his foot, he briefly worried about if his pants would become muddied by the horror that was the ill-kept lawn of the Addison Apartments.

He sighed, moving toward the doorway. The door laid flat on the floor in front of him, allowing him to see the stairs (rotten beyond use), the mailboxes (many were now far too rusted, but Travis could still see that some mailboxes contained letters and spam mail), the carpet (sun worn and now being used as bedding for mice), and most importantly, the soft glow of a candle in a candle holder, which resided near the old apartment of the previous owner. 

“A candle?” he scoffed, almost startling himself. “Whomever came in here certainly didn’t use their reasoning, that’s for sure.”

The entire room was aglow with the one candles light, and he could see the wallpaper that was peeling, see the hardwood floor that was pushing up, swollen from the water that dropped from above. Holes littered the ceiling, and Travis felt a chill run down his spine. 

He took a step into the Apartments, feeling the floor sink ever-so-slightly beneath his weight as he took one last look around. He felt as if he’d walked into a cooler, as the temperature was now colder than the outside. He couldn’t place his finger on why, merely tightened his jacket around himself as he turned to look outside once more, asking himself if it really had been worth all the trouble to come here, only for the assumed teenagers to have gone already. 

That was his mistake. He turned his back on the stairwell for just a brief moment, and whirled around when he heard the small, unmistakable shake of a spray paint can, then the thud of it being set down.

His eyes were greeted with the sight of a blue haired boy, whose face was covered by a fabric mask.

 His eyes were light blue, one being a bit darker than the other. The hand that held the spray paint had long, black, claw-like nails. The being had a jacket that was once likely white, but a red substance had been poured or splattered on it, and the red pants were ripped up. Heavy black boots, spikes, and a chain. This person was clearly a punk, and was very clearly looking at him. 

Despite the soft light, Travis could swear that he saw the outline of blood on a small part of the young man’s face, and could almost hear a dripping sound.

The teen pulled the mask down a bit, revealing horrendous teeth, two rows of them, as he leaned a bit toward the pastor. 

“Forgive me, Father. For I have, ashamedly, sinned.”

Travis took a step back, instinctively grabbing his cross. “We’re all sinners, though, aren’t we?” He was a bit proud that his voice remained steady.

The boy stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose that’s fair. There are many who sin worse than others, though, wouldn’t you say?” The boy turned away from him to pick up a can of spray paint. Travis realized that the paint was the same shade of red that painted the boy’s clothes, and relaxed ever so slightly.

“Yes,” he said slowly, uncertain of what he could be getting at. Travis had been startled by the boy’s shocking appearance, but for the time being, all thoughts of ghosts and demons had left his mind. This boy made noise as he stepped here and there in order to get his masterpiece on the wall just right; he made shadows in the flickering light of the candle. Travis could see the weight shift from foot to foot as he moved.

Whatever else might have been in this accursed building, this boy, at the very least, appeared to be flesh and blood. 

“Why are you here, young man?” he asked. “You’re aware that you’re trespassing, aren’t you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” The boy’s voice held nothing but good nature as he continued to spray the wall. 

“Maybe.  _ I’m _ not committing an act of vandalism, though.” What was the boy painting, anyway? He seemed to have an idea of what he was doing, but Travis couldn’t quite make it out in the candlelight. 

“Didn’t you hear? No one’s lived here in years.” Travis heard another spray and saw the boy’s hand move in an upward arch. “No one but ghosts here.”

“And the occasional hooligan,” Travis said, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn’t help but smile. Ah, to be young and full of piss and vinegar again, the twenty-five-year-old thought.

“Yeah…” The boy sounded far away. “If only  _ that  _ was the worst thing that ever happened here…”

Travis frowned, now thoroughly curious. Minding the old blood stains and broken glass of the window, he stepped closer to the boy. “You sound like you know something.” That would be a big change of pace; Addison Apartments was the town’s dirty little open secret. Everyone had a vague idea about its cursed past, but they didn’t like to talk about it. Travis had lived in Nockfell his whole life, and even he didn’t know all the gruesome details.

“Yeah...you could say that…” The boy stepped away from the wall and put his can of paint back on the floor. Travis absently wondered if it was safe, keeping it so close to an open flame. How was the flame still going, anyway? The window had been broken only God knew how long ago, and the wind and rain were still going strong outside. At least the room was properly ventilated.

“Care to elaborate?” asked Travis. 

“It’s a long story. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The stranger turned and leaned his hands against the windowsill. The hood of the stranger’s sweatshirt blew back in the wind, which then whipped his blue hair about wildly. 

“I’ve got time,” said Travis, transfixed by the sight. “And I’m a priest; it’s my job to make sure other people believe. I’ll keep an open mind.” 

The boy sighed and removed himself from the windowsill, sauntering over to a corner of the room that Travis realized was covered by a blanket. Next to it were a smile pile of empty soda cans and chip bags.

_ Is he squatting here? _ Travis thought with a start. It was an upsetting thought, that one who looked and sounded so young could be homeless. Phelps Ministry was always open to anyone who needed it; he thought to point that out to the stranger, but he started speaking. 

“First things first, you need to know...it didn’t all happen at once. It started decades ago; Hell, maybe more than a century ago. It was just one night when all the pieces fell into place.”

Travis’s legs were growing tired. He found himself wishing that he’d brought his jacket, after all; it would be nice to have something warm and soft to sit on.

Seeming to sense his discomfort, the boy shifted to the side, patting the seat of the blanket next to him. Travis took him up on his offer.

“They called themselves The Eaters of God. They wanted to bring... _ something _ ...that they worshipped into the world. They used this building for meetings; they used it for planning and worship.” The boy’s left eye shone brightly in the darkness. “They committed human sacrifices here. Once you were in this world, you could never leave.” 

The hairs on the back of Travis’s neck stood on end, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the cold. 

“I still don’t know the name of what they brought here; I always just called it ‘The Red-Eyed Demon.’ It would possess people to make them do its dark bidding. It would feed on their worst memories and emotions; corrupt them into something no longer human. There were a lot of victims affected, but there’s one name, in particular, you should know.”

Travis sat transfixed; he was being told a ghost story by what appeared to be an adolescent boy straight out of a horror film, and he couldn’t move. “Who?” he whispered, fingertips digging into his bible.

“Terrence Addison. His family owned this building for generations.” The stranger stared at his hands in his lap. Travis wasn’t certain whether the drying substance on his palms was paint or blood. “I guess he was the catalyst for everything...whatever the Eaters of God did to him, they did when he was a child, and they didn’t stop. He wasn’t human anymore, and no one realized it until it was too late.” The stranger smiled in a way that made chills go down Travis’s spine. “We all just assumed he was a hermit; too shy to do anything but talk to anyone from behind a mail slot. We all thought he was harmless…” 

“It’s how the devil operates,” Travis managed to say. “By tricking you into thinking He’s benevolent or benign.”

The stranger’s laugh held no humor. “I call him a demon, but I don’t really think that’s it. Whatever it is, I think it existed a long time before humans created Christianity. It was here a long time before us, and I think it’ll be here for a long time afterwards.”

Travis was a bit offended by the idea that Christianity had ever been created by humans, but was far more unnerved by the implications of what the stranger was saying. “What happened to Terrence?” he asked, growing less and less sure that he truly wanted to know the answer.

“He’d spread through the building, infecting everyone living there. The one who realized what had happened was a man named Sal Fisher; he defeated him after a long, difficult battle, but it was a bittersweet victory. By that point, it was too late; if anyone in that building were allowed to live, to go out and live their lives, the sickness Terrance and the Demon had infected them with would spread.”

All the stories Travis had heard about this building...every rumor, every myth, every ghost story that had flamed the fuel of mystery about this property…

It was all starting to fall into place.

“Sal Fisher was the serial killer.” It came out as a whisper. 

“He was.” The stranger curled in on himself; his hood obscured his masked face, and the white and red fabric of his clothing glowed an eerie yellow against the blue and black shadows. “It’s another thing you should know...he didn’t want to do it. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do. But right then, after all he’d seen, he didn’t know what other choice he had.” 

Travis frowned. “What if he was insane?” he asked. 

The stranger shrugged. “That thought occurred to him many, many times. Of course, in the end, it didn’t matter. He killed himself. Not in this room, but another one, up on the fourth floor.” 

That was an entirely too specific detail. It occurred to Travis just what had made him so uneasy about this story: it felt much less like a story and much more like the stranger’s personal experience. “I’m sorry...I didn’t catch your name…” As Travis said that, he let his hand creep behind him, lightly feeling around on the ground until he found what he was looking for. The shard of glass he now held was small, but would most likely do enough damage, if it had to.

The boy removed his hood and then his mask, revealing a mass of gnarled old scar tissue. His grin showed a mouthful of uneven teeth. “Sal Fisher. Nice to meet you, Father. And you are…?”

The boy-- _ man, _ Travis absently corrected himself--was making no move to threaten him, but he held tight to the shard of glass, just the same. “Just what are you saying?” he asked with a glare. “Are you playing some sort of joke on me?”

The stranger sighed. “I  _ told _ you you wouldn’t believe me.”

Travis shook his head. “Fucking unbelievable…” he muttered. “Even if you’re telling the truth...you said so yourself. You committed suicide.”

“Yeah.”

“So how are you here right now?”

“I came back after three days. Not as a ghost, like I thought I would, but back into this body.” 

He was being blasphemous, too, on top of everything. Just perfect. “Well, Sal Fisher, you’ve just wasted my time,” he huffed, getting to his feet. “I could’ve been blessing this building that whole time you were telling me that story!”

Sal shrugged. “You can try  _ now. _ I won’t stop you.” 

Travis grew suspicious, turning his attention to the young being. “Why are you being so… passive.”

Sal have a shrug, moving his mask to its rightful place. “Once the same thing has happened over and over again, you want something new to happen. Bit more often than not, everything stays the same until you change it. Why do you think this place is so damaged despite me being here? It’s cause I hated staring at the same walls, day in, day out.”

Travis was speechless at this, turning right around and getting about to cleansing the area. The entire time that this occurred, Sal remained quiet, continuing his spray painting on the walls.

Travis took the time to note that he wasn’t just painting humans or words, as he’s seen others do before. He wasn’t hastily scribbling words that were inappropriate into the walls of the previously magnificent entry way. 

These markings were carefully planned, graceful and neat. 

Even the paint that dripped down accented the marks, instead of making it seeming messy or ugly.

“Just what are you doing….?”

“None of your business.” Sal moved to the side, and Travis was startled back when he saw an actual tail- not just any tail, a tail that marked  _ demons.  _

_ “ _ Y-you’re a… you’re a -!”

“A demon. Yes.” Sal seemed bored, shaking the can. “Tell me something new.”

Travis held his cross out in front of him. “Stay back!” The words held little power as his voice shook. 

Sal waved a hand. “Don’t worry, Father; if I’d really wanted to hurt you by now, I would have.”

Oddly enough, that didn’t comfort Travis very much. “Back, Demon!” he spat. “Go back to the depths of Hell from whence you came!”

The words did nothing. Sal merely looked amused. “Huh; been a while since someone told me to do that.” He went back to painting those accursed demonic symbols. 

Why hadn’t Travis thought to bring holy water? A bible reading would have to do. He retrieved the old leather-bound tome from his robes and began to read out loud. It didn’t seem to affect the unholy abomination before him, but it did soothe him somewhat.

“That was nice,” Sal said thoughtfully. “Before all this, the last time I went to church was my mother’s funeral.” 

Travis sighed, exasperated. He wasn’t getting anywhere. “I don’t understand,” he grunted.

“Honestly? I don’t understand all of it, either.” Sal stopped painting for a bit, blowing on the wet paint to make it dry faster. “I mean...I’d like to think this is my punishment. Being stuck here, trying to stop any cultists or darkness from happening ever again.”

“You…” Travis’s eyes widened. “You can’t leave Addison Apartments?”

“I can leave the building,” said Sal, “but I can’t leave the property.” Sensing Travis’s stare, he shrugged. “It’s not all bad; I’ve come to think of this place as home. I don’t technically have to eat, drink, or sleep, so lack of any of them won’t kill me. Besides, it could be worse…”

Travis shook his head in general disbelief of... _ any _ of this. “How?” he asked. He almost regretted telling the demon to go back to Hell; this state of Purgatory almost seemed worse than all the fire and brimstone and pitchforks he’d grown up believing in.

“I could’ve been brought back as a ghost, instead! Most of them can’t go very far from where they died. I can at least move from room to room.” His head perked up and a surprisingly pleasant smile lit up his ghostly features. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Gibson?”

_ “Bah.” _

Travis jumped at the sound of the voice behind him. He whirled around and turned nearly as pale as the horrific vision before him. The ghost of an elderly woman with lavender-dyed hair and drawn-on eyebrows glared at him. Black blood slowly oozed from a large gash on her neck. 

“You scarin’ trespassers again, Sally Face?” the spectre grumbled. The ghost folded her arms over her chest, and Travis felt his face grow hot. Apparently she’d been killed in her underwear. He turned his head, hoping to give her some dignity.

“What else am I supposed to do for fun around here?” Sal asked. Travis heard the shrug in his voice, rather than saw it. “It’s been so long since we had one. Especially one so holy!”

“Little hoodlum,” scoffed the ghost. “How old are you now? Thirty? Forty?”

Sal shrugged. “I’ve lost track.”

Now that the shock of being surrounded by demonic abominations had worn off, Travis was mostly confused. Maybe a little amused; these two bantered with the comfort of people who’d known each other for a long time.

Which they had, Travis remembered.

“You there. Priest.”

Travis jumped. “Yes?” 

“If you were stuck with the ghosts of people you’d killed, would you show them some modicum of respect?”

“I...um…” Christ, talking to this ghost lady was less of an unholy nightmare and more of a ‘being stuck in a conversation with racist grandma’ nightmare. “I want to say ‘yes?’”

“Suck-up,” said Sal. 

Mrs. Gibson’s ghost sighed. The wound on her neck opened and closed with the expulsion of ghost air. “Ah, well; it could be worse. At least it’s  _ you _ bothering me and not that Johnson kid.”

“Seriously? You can tolerate the guy who murdered you and not the kid who accidentally killed your rabbit?” 

“You knew what you had to do; that damned stupid boy was just being a little hellion.”

Sal turned to Travis with a shrug, as if to say ‘See? You see what I have to live with?’

Travis was certainly getting a clearer picture. “Look,” he said, holding his hands out in a sort of ‘please calm down’ gesture, “maybe I can help. What if I blessed this place? Performed an exorcism to help you all move on?”

Sal looked like he was about to say something, but the ghost woman burst out into cruel, mocking laughter. She really  _ was  _ like Travis’s grandma, he thought, except nicer. “You think you’re the first priest who’s tried?” 

Sal gave him an apologetic look. “I tried to tell you.” 

“I appreciate that,” said Travis. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m still going to try. I don’t have all the materials I need right now, but now I at least have a better idea of what this place holds.” Travis packed up his bible and brushed off the front and back of his robes. “I’ll be back for you.”

Sal gave him a little wave. “I look forward to it, Father.” The demon wore a smile that was surprisingly shy and sweet.

Travis shook that thought from his mind, remembering that this sort of thing was how Satan lured mortal souls to his side, and left Addison Apartments. 

On his way back home, one thought was more prominent than all the others:  _ Just what the Hell have I gotten myself into? _


	29. An Announcement!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special announcement we’d like to make!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this isn’t a full chapter, and if you were expecting something else, but I promise it’s worth it.

So, to get right to the point, Space-Kase and I have made a blog for the Trally works we’re doing! This includes our previous collaboration of Three Nights Of Trally.  
To put it simply, we’ve made a tumblr where you, our audience, can interact with us!   
Sometimes commenting seems stressful, or maybe you want to suggest something to us but the comments seem inappropriate or rude, but on the tumblr, we happily accept... well.... everything!  
Got an idea for a chapter? Send it in!  
Need writing advice? (Idk why you’d ask me, I’m shitty at writing) sure! Well help best we can!  
Want me to draw you some Trally? Send in asks!   
Want merch for Trally? I mean, we’re honored if you do, but you can go ahead and tell us at the blog!  
Best part is that we’ll keep anon on for those who are too shy to reveal their accounts. It’s okay, we understand.  
Basically, we’ll try and interact every day. Life is bumpy right now, but we’ll try our best. And since we’ll be co-admins of the blog, we can edit posts together and point things out (or reblog each other to call each other out but that’s not the point-)  
Anyway!   
The blog is known as Kase-Dragon-and-Trally, and it’s open for asks and submissions whenever you guys are ready!   
We hope to see you guys there!  
(Also updates can and will be posted to the Trally blog, so if you want to know when we post the new chapter, go ahead and put notifications on our tumblr cough)


	30. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes is one person, one act of kindness and understanding...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ball-Jointed Dragon: To those reading; this section will include suicidal thoughts, glamorizing suicide, and mentions of previous self harm and current self harm, and blood. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.  
> To those who are suffering and are considering suicide, please call 1-800-273-8255. 
> 
> Spacekase: Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. If you're experiencing suicidal thoughts or feelings, please talk to someone. If there are no friends or family members who you feel you can go to, then try the number up above. Even if you don't believe it right now, the world IS better with you in it.

He couldn’t do this anymore- he just couldn’t! 

The pressure he constantly felt was going to kill him, one way or another; he just hadn’t thought that it would be so soon that he’d be bringing the razor to his school. 

This was what they wanted, wasn’t it?

They  _ wanted  _ him to close his eyes, to feel the blood drip down his arms, drip onto his feet, or even the floor. They wanted him to keep quiet, and he’d give them what they wanted.

That’s why Travis sat there, now, on one of the school’s toilets, clutching the razor in his hands. In his other hand, he held a notepad, full of crossed out pages. He grew frustrated, trying to think of the words to write as he balanced the notebook on his knee.

“May God and his everloving--no, no. No. God won’t love you, nobody else does.” He snapped to himself, crumpling the page and tossing it out of his stall.

He should go get it, but he instead shrugged. They’d find something much worse than a scribbled-out suicide note anyways. 

His breathing was becoming hard, and he finally managed to think of the words that would very well explain why he’d decided to do this. He wrote quickly, and beamed when he finished. 

_ Perfect. _

Just as he had folded the note and carefully stood it up on a railing, he heard the door open.

He froze for a brief second, before shrugging it off. Who cares if someone uses the bathroom? It’s not like they’d be able to understand what’s going on anyway.

Travis pulled his long-sleeved shirt up; he many faded scars that littered his arms were a grim reminder of what he had been capable of in the past.

He clutched the razor properly now, taking a deep breath. 

Only, he noticed that there was a pair of feet outside his stall door, and that the paper he’d tossed out was now gone.

He frowned, knowing they might quickly report him now that he’d been discovered.

Might as well skip the prayer of forgiveness before he--

“Travis Phelps, if you do this, I will personally find you in the afterlife.”

He was so badly shocked by the voice that he dropped the razor, and it clattered to the ground.

“Sally Face?!” His face burned with embarrassment. 

Out of all the people who were to find him and his plan to free himself, it had to be his worst enemy… or rather, his crush, he now admitted.

“Travis, will you open the door, please?” His tone was pleading, and Travis seemed to snap himself out of the daydream he’d been holding himself in.

He was sitting on a toilet, clutching his math notebook to his chest, filling it with the ravings of a lost soul.

“N… no.” Travis shook his head, even though Sally couldn’t see him do so.

“Alright, it’s okay.” Sally’s voice became gentle. “You don’t have to open the door. Are you alright?”

Travis took a moment to speak. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re not hurt?” Concern was clear in Sally’s tone.

Someone… was concerned for him. Someone _ cared. _ Travis felt tears well up in his eyes, and he carefully took the finished note he’d had and furiously stuck it into the notebook.

“No. Why would you say that?” He tried to be nonchalant about it.

“Because of this paper, Travis. It sounds like you… like you were…”

“Going to commit suicide?” Travis scoffed, putting a foot on the door as he sat on the toilet. “No. No, it was ah uh. an English assignment. Put yourself into the shoes of some famous person that passed away or whatever.” 

Now Sally was quiet, and Travis worried for a moment that he may have left, aside from his feet still being in the same place. 

“Yknow…. I’ve always wondered why you were so angry. Or mean, for that matter..” Sally’s voice wasn’t accusatory. 

“What do you even mean?” Travis pretended to be irritated, knowing deep down inside what Sally was talking about.

“Like today. You punched me. It’s okay, by the way. I’m fine; unless you wanted me to be hurt, in which case, I’m sorry.”

Travis’s grip on his notebook grew tight. “Why are you apologizing for me punching you?”

“Because I know people tend to hurt other people when they’re hurting, too.” 

“You…. can’t say that for certain. Besides, you can’t know everything, Sally Face. You don’t know  _ anything  _ about me.”

“I can try. I know your dad is a pastor. I know how he talks when he sees something he doesn’t like. And that’s only in public…. what happens at home? Travis, you’re not exactly… normal.”

Sal’s tone had dropped to a whisper. And Travis was left gobsmacked. He remained quiet, hands shaking. 

“What do you mean?”

“You like things I do. I know you do. You asked me what a band was once when I played it a little too loud.”

“So I could avoid it!” Travis tried to defend himself.

“No. So you could know what to look up. You knew, and I saw you smile.”

“Sally Face--“

“Are you okay?” Sal repeated again. 

Travis was silent for a long, long time.

“.... no. I’m not. But I’m better now…. thanks Sally--uh. Sal.”

There was a smile in his voice. “No problem Travis. Can you come out now? You can come sit with Larry and I.”

Travis was pretty sure that Sal noticed how red and blotchy his eyes were, but he was kind enough not to mention them. He didn’t leave the bathroom as Travis washed his face, though he did turn around to give him some privacy.

He left the bathroom feeling shaky and breathless. He didn’t miss how Sal was in the bathroom longer than he was; he realized why when he saw a gleam of familiar silver in Sal’s left hand.  _ He pocketed my razor.  _ Travis could physically taste shame and embarrassment. “Sal,” he said shakily, “I’m--”

Sal put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Travis,” he said quietly. “I mean...it’s okay if you’re not okay.” Sal gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You can talk to me any time. I’ll give you my number, okay?”

Travis heaved a deep, shuddering sigh. “Okay,” was all he was capable of saying; all the pressure that had been building up inside him had been deflated by Sal, leaving him wilted. Everyone at the lunch table seemed to understand that something had gone on, but no one said anything. Even Larry wasn’t as short with him as he usually was; he quietly moved so that Travis could sit next to him.

Days passed, then weeks, then months. All of the pain that had made Travis want to stop living didn’t go away at once; some days it was bearable. Others, it was worse. During times when it was especially bad, when he was sure his father wasn’t listening, he would call Sal. He wouldn’t always talk about what it was that was bothering him; sometimes he would, but others, he would ask Sal what he was doing, what game he was recently playing, what bands he’d discovered.  _ Anything _ to distract him. When his father wasn’t home, he’d ask Sal and sometimes his other friends if they could hang out.

The suicidal thoughts and feelings didn’t go away overnight, obviously, but having friends to talk to  _ did _ help a lot. Knowing that someone,  _ anyone _ out there cared about Travis made him want to kill himself just a little less. 

He wasn’t fixed; he would never be ‘fixed,’ because human beings didn’t work that way. But it was enough to make him hold on until he finally,  _ finally _ reached eighteen and was able to move out. His father had been far from pleased, now that he no longer had a person in his life to control, but Travis found himself caring a lot less than he would’ve thought.

It wasn’t all easy; he surfed couches for a while before he found a shitty apartment he could afford. What he really needed, therapy, wasn’t something he could afford at first, but it did eventually happen.

By his early twenties, Travis Phelps felt like he could call himself a well-adjusted, well-rounded man; by his mid-twenties, he could safely say that he had his shit together. 

Which was more than he could say for the new roommate he’d gotten by some incredibly strange twist of fate.

Sal Fisher, known as The Sally Face Killer, was fresh out of prison and sleeping on his couch.

Travis would have thought that this would be a happy time; he was eager to get reacquainted with his childhood crush as the different, happy, confident man he’d become. 

But Sal had changed, too. He was much quieter, much more jumpy, and a lot less energetic. Travis supposed he could understand; Sal had been through a lot. Several murder charges and three years in prison would do that to a man. Even so, it concerned him that Sal was now sleeping for days at a time and not eating or drinking. When Travis would gently try to talk to him about it, Sal would shrink in on himself and meekly apologize. On top of all that, his nightmares had grown worse; waking up to the sounds of screaming and hysterical sobbing was becoming a regular part of Travis’s routine.

It all came to a head when Travis came home early from work one day and headed to the bathroom to wash up. His blood turned to icy slush when he opened the door.

There was Sal, sans prosthetic, holding a steak knife just under his throat. 

At the sound of the door opening, Sal’s eyes widened. He was so startled that he dropped the knife. Travis held his breath as the blade hit the side of the bathroom counter, only releasing it when it landed in the sink. 

He chanced a look at Sal. It barely registered that this was the first time he’d seen him without his prosthetic; all he could really focus on was the look in his eye. Shame and pain were masked by the look of being caught in the headlights. 

“Sal…” said Travis, uncertain of where to go from there.

“I…” Sal began. “I--I…” Tears gathered in that left eye, and that did it. Travis took one giant step forward and gathered the tiny man up in his arms. 

“Easy,” he murmured. “I got you.” Useless platitudes; band-aids on freshly severed limbs and gaping gangrenous wounds. But right then it was all he could think to say as Sal sobbed against his shoulder. He lost track of how much time he spent, holding Sal close, rubbing his back and murmuring useless, soothing nothings. 

Travis didn’t really want to let go, but eventually Sal pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“No, no...hey…” Christ, this was all uncomfortably familiar. “Here,” Travis said, wrapping an arm around Sal’s shoulders, “come on.” He led Sal to the couch in the living room, where he all but shoved him into it. There, he wrapped a blanket he’d knit years ago around Sal’s shoulders. He tried not to focus on how good the red yarn looked around him. 

_ Tea, _ he thought. His mom had always believed that something hot and soothing to drink, like tea, could cure anything. 

In this case, he knew it wouldn’t; he could only hope that it would help.

He brought two mugs of steaming green tea to his coffee table; noticing that Sal was still crying, he also brought a pack of tissues. He could worry about clean-up later; right now he was mos. t worried about the five-foot-six mess with blue hair on his couch.

“That was stupid of me,” Sal whispered. “Selfish, too; you would’ve had to take care of my body. And all the blood.” 

Travis shook his head. “Sally Face, that’s the last thing on my mind.” None of this felt real; somehow it felt less real than hearing that he’d allegedly killed an entire building full of people.

Even now, all Travis felt he could really say about the Sally Face Killer was ‘Man, that’s one Hell of a story.’

“I’m not angry,” he assured Sal. “I’m worried.” Sal gingerly let go of the blanket and picked up his mug of tea. Travis found himself mesmerized by the sight of Sal’s face; he wasn’t horrified or shocked, like he’d always been worried he would. He found it fascinating; the right side of his face sagged, particularly the area around his eye. Sal must not have put his glass eye in before he…

Travis stopped that train of thought in order to focus on the lines left in the scar tissue. Sal didn’t have a nose, and parts of his jaw bone were missing. 

When Sal had been arrested, reporters left and right had had a field day. They’d dug into every nook and cranny of his past, leaving no stone unturned to the world. Ashamed as he was to admit it, Travis had read up on a lot of it. Now he knew that it was a dog that had been responsible for Sal’s face. 

That such a big, powerful animal could do  _ that _ , and the person could still come out of it alive…

“You’re strong, Sal,” Travis said softly. “Stronger than you think.”

Sal shook his head. “A strong person wouldn’t do what I just did,” he whispered.

“What if you’d come into the boys’ room just a few minutes later than you did?” asked Travis with a sudden, newfound intensity. “What if you’d been too late? Would you have called  _ me _ weak?”

It was enough to shock Sal out of crying. “ _ No, _ ” he said softly, “of course not! I would  _ never _ …” He trailed off, realizing what it was he was just about to say.

“I know you wouldn’t. So why do you think  _ you  _ deserve that kind of cruelty?”

“Because, between the two of us, I was the one who went to prison for murder.”

_ Ouch. _ Travis took a deep breath, thinking carefully. “Look,” he admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on in your mind right now. I haven’t been through all the shit you have; I haven’t done the things you have. Maybe I  _ don’t _ fully get it.” Sal had placed his mug back down on the coffee table. It was still mostly full. Travis took one of his hands, which was now incredibly warm in his. “So why don’t you talk to me about it?”

Sal stared at him with that one intense blue eye before looking down at their entwined hands. 

“Maybe I never went to prison,” Travis continued, “but I have an idea of how you’re feeling. You remember high school, right?”

Sal nodded. 

“I didn’t think I had anything to live for. I wanted to get away from my dad and all the bullshit that was high school. There was a part of me that wanted people to feel sorry that they drove me to that, but mostly, I just didn’t think anyone would care.” It had been a while since Travis had talked about that dark time of his life; he didn’t like to think about it, now that things had been going as well as they were. But it seemed like something Sal needed to hear right now.

“ _ I  _ cared.” Sal’s voice was so quiet that Travis barely heard it. “I didn’t want you to die.”

Despite the events of the day, Travis smiled and gave Sal’s hand a squeeze. “I know. You saved my life that day, you know that? It’s not just that my life was better with you in it; I’m literally alive because of you right now.” Without thinking, he tucked a lock of blue hair behind Sal’s ear, not really caring that it obviously hadn’t been washed for a few days. “You’re my angel.”

Sal stared at him for a few seconds before he snorted with laughter. Travis decided, then and there, that Sal’s scarred, lopsided smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “That’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said!” he giggled. 

Despite everything, Travis laughed, too. “It’s true, though!” Once their laughter died down, Travis told him “I’m not promising that I can ‘save’ you, but I _ can _ promise that I care about you, too. I’m here for you; will you let me in?”

Sal stared at him for the longest time before he finally whispered “Yes.”


	31. Kraken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young man lost at sea makes an unexpected but not unwelcome ally.

Well.

Travis could now say with a finality in his tone that he was not the smartest man alive.

He never thought he was, and he never stated as such; he was, in fact, always saying he could learn something from the experiences he was facing and leaving written in his history.

For instance, he could safely say that when he was 12 and decided to run away from home to join a pirate gang was a smart move. He got away from senseless abuse and shame, and grew up to be a well-read young man who knew how to take care of a ship, how to work with others, and even such skills as rationing and sword fighting!

All good things had come from him running away!

But that had been when his luck still flowed. 

When he was 21, the pirate gang he’d joined at 12 had been raided.

Through fires and falling timber, Travis watched as his father-figure was brutally murdered.

As the man he loved and looked up to choked on his own blood, he had screamed at Travis to  _ run. _

Travis took the man’s advice and turned tail, scooping up a sword and booking it to a small lifeboat.

He’d hopped into it, which swung the lifeboat away from the main deck. As he swung outwards, he slashed the ropes and dropped, dropped.

5, then 12 feet, and then a hard  _ crash _ , which he was sure broke something, likely his foot.

He threw the sword to the other side of the boat and took up the oars, coughing through the smog and ash.

He rowed as far as he could away from the burning wreckage of his home, watching it become a small dot on the horizon before it vanished.

Nonetheless, he continued to row, ignoring his thirst and his growls of hunger as time passed. 

All he knew was that he needed to be gone, or else they would come searching for him.

Finally, after a hard 7 or so hours of rowing based purely on adrenaline, Travis dropped the oars with a heavy thud. The boat stilled, the air silent aside from his heavy breathing. The sun had long ago risen, but now it was slowly moving down, sinking below the waves once more.

Travis could only stare at the oars, dumbfounded.

“What just happened?”

_ He was alone. _

 

At least, for a few hours he remained alone.

The silence greeted every question he called up, and he had no map to aid him in figuring out where he may be.

The best he could do was use the tools he’d managed to get away with before the drop.

Attempting to stray away from his thoughts, he went through it all.

Several days worth of food.

Several days worth of drinkable water.

No soap, but there was a lemon. 

A wry smile covered his face- his old man was always scared of scurvy. 

At least, he used to be.

Travis re-packaged the lemon and went through the rest.

Some clean clothes. A leather bag. A bell.

Travis leaned back and rubbed his face.

_ Maybe they shouldn’t have skipped out on stocking the lifeboats.  _

“Hmph,” he said with a scowl. With what he had, he’d survive for at least a week. Thirst and starvation weren’t a problem for now, but these supplies wouldn’t last forever. He supposed, when his food ran out, he could try to catch fish with his sword, but he had doubts about how effective that would be; it was a tool for dueling and slashing, not for spearing fish. Lack of water was a much greater concern; a man could live for a long time without food, but only a few days without water.  _ Why did I become a pirate, again? _ he asked himself as he glared out at the ocean; he was surrounded by water that he couldn’t drink. If there were a chance of rain, those worries would ebb, but there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. There hadn’t been for days.  _ Maybe I could do with fish blood…?  _ As he continued to think, his chances of survival seemed grimmer and grimmer.

With a groan, Travis lay back down in the boat. He hissed in pain as he tried to move his leg to rest his foot on the boat’s wooden seat. 

Just as he was wondering how on Earth this could get any worse, he heard the sound of something breaching in the distance.

Something  _ big.  _

A chill ran down his spine. Whatever it was, it sounded much bigger than the dolphins and sharks he and the rest of his crew would see around their ship. Even bigger than whales they would occasionally get to see in the distance.    

Travis risked looking over the edge of the boat in time to witness a pair of enormous glistening reptilian heads rise from the deep blue waves. They turned to face him, revealing long scaly jaws full of needle sharp teeth. 

He stared at them; they stared back with rows of eyes the color of hellfire. 

His breathing increased. He’d heard tales of this creature when he and his crew had journeyed to the shores of Greece.  _ The hydra… _

He made the mistake of blinking; when he opened his eyes again, the creature had slid under the waves with a speed he never would have expected from a being that size. 

_ My sword!  _ Right then Travis was glad he’d thought to bring the old thing with him. ‘Be kind to your blade, and it’ll be kind to you,’ his beloved captain had told him. 

Travis wanted to believe him, but when the hydra burst from the waves around his boat and he was left having to crane his neck far upward, he wondered if his blade’s kindness would be enough to protect him this time. 

Travis was ready to defend the small boat that he currently floated on.

He may be injured, and he may not survive the horrible ocean that surrounded him, but he’d be damned if he was going to be taken out by the damn hydra. 

One of the hydra’s heads bolted down, moving at a pace faster than he could follow, and he was sure that the heads were heading straight for him, ready to tear him up and swallow him whole.

He swung his sword, catching one in the eye and grunting as the hydra’s other head grazed him.

The scales were sharp, and he winced as he felt saltwater bite the now-skinned area on his arm.

“I’m going to die like this. Eaten alive by a hydra.”

The monster swung all of its heads in his direction, but when Travis went to steady himself, he felt his boat rock heavily, to the point where he almost fell into the water again.

He briefly thought that the hydra had once more gone under, but he saw the thing right before his eyes.

That is… until it was suddenly yanked under the waves by a long, blue tentacle.

Just as suddenly as the hydra had come up, it was flailing down, as more tentacles came from below and dragged the screaming beast below the waves.

Travis had to have a moment to sit down and just stare at the wood panels that made up the bottom of the boat.

What the  _ hell  _ had just happened.

_ I had a meal.  _

A deep voice seemed to respond in his mind, and he nearly fell out of his seat.

“Hello?!”

Several long moments, he heard nothing.

“Oh boy, now I’m going crazy.”

_ Crazy is not a word I would use to describe you, little human.  _

“Who are you?! I have a sword! I’ll use it!” Travis could feel his heart pounding, his hair constantly getting into his eyes. 

_ A sword is weak against me. But I assure you, I mean you no harm. _

“Show yourself!” Travis heard his voice warbling a bit, and he tried to steady it, gripping the handle of his sword as he stared into the water.

It didn’t help that as he looked into the water, it began turning red with blood, and a patch of scales from the hydra came up. 

Travis stumbles back into his boat, eyes terrified.

_ My form shall scare you…. I shall send up…. my son. He will be able to speak with you better than I shall. _

Travis felt fear claw up his throat.

“Another.. monster?!”

The thing didn’t answer him this time. Bubbles came up from the red waters, growing larger and faster.

Travis heard something splash nearby, and he whirled to look at it.

There was nothing.

He swallowed harshly as he slowly turned around, letting out a shriek as he noticed a clawed hand gripping the side of the boat. His boat tilted towards this hand, and he saw an eye appear, surrounded by blue hair. 

Travis was stunned into silence as he watched this creature pull itself into the boat, slowly and without words.

Hair covered the better part of its face. Dark skin was apparent, and the thing looked as if it just had a large meal, as there was blood on its hands and bits of meat in the sharp teeth that Travis saw when the creature gritted its teeth as it hefted its upper body over the edge.

Travis could have sworn that he saw scale-like patterns on this being’s body, in the right light. 

As the lower half was hefted in, Travis let out a strangled gasp.

The lower half of this being’s body was 8 tentacles. The pirate slowly returned his gaze to this being’s face, pale. 

_ I hope you two will get along for the moment. _

Getting along, Travis considered, would be the best case scenario.

“Are you all right?” the creature asked. His mouth handled the words clumsily, as if it hadn’t been made for human language.  _ It probably wasn’t,  _ Travis thought. 

“Well, that giant serpent didn’t eat me. I suppose that’s a good thing.” He paused before adding “Next time you see your father, tell him I said ‘thank you’ for taking care of it.” He’d gotten this far because of the kindness of strangers, but so far the kraken and his son had been the strangest he’d ever seen.

The creature before him managed to sit himself on the bench of the rowboat. It was difficult, due to the tentacles, but he managed. “You look injured,” he said, pointing a clawed, glistening finger at Travis’s leg.

“Yeah; it happened when I escaped from my ship.” Now that the crisis had passed, he remembered just how painful it was. “All things considered, it could be worse.” He could be dead.

“Let me have a look…” Travis wanted to protest, but the creature was far too fast for him. He cried out in pain as he lifted his leg up, eyeing it with a particularly piercing blue eye. “Well, it isn’t broken,” he said. “Still, it can’t be very comfortable, can it? Here…” The creature murmured something that Travis didn’t understand, but which sent chills down his spine, just the same.

Within minutes, the pain in the sprained leg was gone. Travis waved his leg in amazement, then when he put it down, he cautiously placed the tiniest bit of weight on it. It was good as new.

He eyed the half-human, half-fish creature before him in amazement. “What  _ are _ you?” he breathed. He’d heard tales from his fellow pirates, of course; stories of monsters from the deep that human minds couldn’t comprehend, stories of sirens and mermaids as dangerous as they were beautiful. The creature who now sat in his boat was beautiful, he decided, though in an inhuman, dangerous sort of way.

The creature shrugged, drawing Travis’s eyes to the blue hair that clung to his glittering, scaly shoulders like seaweed. “I am what I am,” he answered with a mysterious smile. “For now, though, you can call me…” The creature’s strange lips pursed thoughtfully for a moment. “Sal.”

“It’s...a very ordinary name,” said Travis. It didn’t fit the otherworldly being before him. 

“It is a nickname,” he said. “Short for something much longer, though I doubt you could pronounce it.”

Sal was probably right, so Travis left it alone. “Your father is a kraken?” he asked. He tried to wrap his mind around a human woman falling in love with such a great and terrible being, then stopped when the images became too disturbing for him. 

“Yes,” Sal said after a moment of thought. “He taught me a great many things about the sea. About the dangers, and the beauty.”

The words struck a chord deep in Travis’s heart. Even as a child the sea had called to him. Its sheer size and mysteries appealed to him in a way he couldn’t describe; he knew he’d never be able to explore every bit of it, learn about every bit of it, within his painfully mortal lifetime, but he’d always known that he wanted to try. “Your father is very wise,” he said. 

“Perhaps, but he taught me very little about humans and their world.” Sal smiled at him, and Travis found himself smiling back. “I think I should very much like to learn.”

Travis’s smile faded as he remembered where he was. “Well, first things first...I’ve only got so much food and water. Probably a week’s worth, if I ration everything. But after that, I’ll die within days if I don’t figure something out.” He didn’t dare ask Sal for help; not after his mighty father had already saved him once. 

Sal looked thoughtful. “I think I can help you,” he said, answering Travis’s secret prayers. Before Travis could say another word, Sal dove over the side of the boat. Travis stared at the where he’d disappeared; if it weren’t for his cured leg and the ripples where the creature had dove, Travis would have thought that everything that had just happened was a dream.

Minutes later, though, something flew over the side of the boat. Travis gaped at the sight of the large fish flopping against the wooden boards. He barely had time to react before one, two, three more joined it. He heard something larger resurface and looked over at Sal, who had a most pleased expression on his face. 

“Will these suffice?”

Travis could only dumbly nod. 

“Let me know when you run out of water,” Sal continued, “I know how to separate the salt from the water.”

“You’ve saved my life,” Travis said. What else was there to say?

Sal simply smiled his strange, otherworldly smile.

 

Days passed out on the open sea. Sal made for good company, and true to his word, he provided Travis with food and water. In return, Travis told him stories of his life, both on land and on the sea. He felt guilty, feeling like Sal was getting the short end of that bargain, but Sal always listened raptly. Travis supposed he hadn’t come across many humans; maybe he really did just want to learn about him. 

It wasn’t as horrible as he’d thought when he’d escaped the flaming wreck of the ship, but Travis was beginning to get antsy. Despite using the lessons the navigator had taught him in reading the stars, there was still no land in sight. 

“You seem unhappy,” Sal told him one day.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m unhappy,” Travis told him, “but I  _ am _ restless.” He waved a hand at his feet. “I’d like to find dry land soon; it’d be nice to stretch my legs for a while.” He’d moved around the boat, but it really wasn’t the same thing.

Sal looked a little wistful. “I understand.” 

“Make no mistake, my friend; I would come back.”

Sal looked up, hope in his bright eye. “You would?” 

Travis smiled. “I never could stay away from the sea for long. It’s always been my home.”

Sal grinned, showing every one of his sharp, pearly teeth. “I’ll hold you to that promise!” He dove into the water. Watching him swim always mesmerized Travis; he was a strong swimmer, but his skills were nothing compared to the inhuman grace and speed of the half-kraken. “Now, what do you need?”

The sun was bright out, so there were no stars for Travis to read. “We had a trick, back on the ship; we’d keep a bird with us for a few days, not feeding it. Not enough to kill it, but enough to make it hungry. When we were lost, we’d release it. The higher they flew, the more they could see. It would fly wherever there was land, looking for food.”

Sal nodded, looking like he’d just heard the most fascinating thing in the world. “Very clever. You don’t have a bird, though.”

Travis sighed. “No; I don’t.” Whatever had happened to the caged crow they’d had in the captain’s quarters? He hoped someone had thought to let the poor creature out before what was left of the ship had sunk.

“Give me a moment,” said Sal. “Let me talk to my father about this.” With that, he disappeared beneath the waves, leaving Travis to his thoughts.

On his own, Travis remembered what boredom was. He lay on his back, deciding to try making shapes out of the few clouds he saw in the sky. He got so lost in what he was doing that he almost missed the dark shape flit above.

“A bird,” he said. “A bird!” He scrambled to his feet, taking note of which direction it was flying in.

In the blink of an eye he saw a huge blue tentacle shoot from the surface and snatch the thing out of mid-air. 

_ Will this bird do?  _ Travis could feel the deep voice in his bones. 

“It will,” Travis said as the tentacle held the seagull before him. The creature didn’t seem to be injured, though it did look comedically startled. Travis couldn’t say he blamed it. “I don’t think this was necessary, though; I think this fellow was already on his way to land.”

_ Oh. _ The powerful, mighty voice speaking in his mind sounded sheepish. 

Travis couldn’t help but laugh. “Still, that was remarkable!” Again, he was amazed by how something so big and strong could move so fast. 

_ I’ve had centuries of practice.  _ The kraken released the bird back into the air. The poor seagull took a few seconds to right himself before continuing in the direction he had been before. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, Travis deduced that the bird was headed south. 

_ South, it is! _ The boat moved, though the oars weren’t in the water. 

 

Travis had never understood people who literally kissed the land when they reached it from sea, up until now. He didn’t do it, of course; he hadn’t quite grown hungry enough to let sand touch his lips. But he did burst into near-hysterical laughter upon climbing out of the boat and letting his bare feet touch something other than the wood of the boat or the cool saltwater. 

Better yet, he could see civilization a short distance away, and he recognized where he was. He could properly ground himself when the euphoria ended.

He turned back to the shore in time to see the kraken disappear in the waves of the distance. He watched in awe as the waves caused by the creature grew smaller and smaller as they grew closer and closer to the shore. From the waves rose Sal, now sporting human legs instead of tentacles and less covered in scales. 

“So,” Travis said with a knowing smile, “Your father the kraken, eh?”

Sal shrugged and smiled at him with more human-looking teeth. “It must have all been a lot to take in; I did not know how you would respond to a shape-shifting monster. Most of your kind who’ve come across me have tried to kill me.”

“And knowing this, you still decided to help me?” Travis gripped Sal’s cool, slippery hands in his, realizing that he’d been much shorter than him in this form than he’d realized. “The tales were all wrong; you, my friend, are no monster.”

“Nor are you.” This was the closest they’d ever been, Travis realized, and despite how eager he was to reintegrate into human society, he almost didn’t want to pull away.

“I am forever in your debt,” Travis murmured. 

“You can repay it by not forgetting.” Sal brushed some of Travis’s long hair behind his ear. “By promising that we can still see each other.”

It seemed a reasonable price to pay. “I promise.”


	32. Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis is angry, upset, frightened...and confused. So very, very confused.

Travis’s pen scratched at what used to be his sheet of notebook paper for the umpteenth time.

With every stroke of his pen, he found that he tore the page a bit more, with a bit more gusto. When he brought the pen back toward him, he admired the blue ink that was left behind; and with every admiration, he remembered why he was so furious in the first place, and looked away briefly before shoving the pen back into the paper.

Sally Face could easily be a devil in disguise, he’d considered, judging from the amount of times the blue-haired boy had done something that tempted Travis to wander from God’s path.

He was sure that, judging from the pressure building on his shoulder, Sally was looking at him now, and that he’d glimpse Sally’s blue eyes if he’d turned around right then.

Yet he couldn’t continue with this plan, no matter how much he wanted to.

His teacher was watching him like a hawk, after last week’s incident on how her best students in class were arguing after she’d taken a small break.

He turned the page as quietly as he could, beginning to move the pen in small circles down the page margins. The teachers voice, which he’d tuned out, was now shoving itself into his main focus.

“.... were known as temptresses that would promise sailors the knowledge they desired, to which these men would generally jump aboard their ship and swim to them, only to be drowned horribly.”

Travis looked up. Ancient Greece never really interested him, but now that he was considering it, there were some parts that did make him want to learn more.

“I thought they were the ones that promised guys sex and then they’d drown them.” A young man in the back called.

Travis resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, managing to succeed. It was only ever sex with these people--Travis himself had considered it, but never out loud, and he’d always never found comfort until he considered the idea as a plan for after his wedding.

Call him classic or old, he always liked the idea of purity at a wedding.

He briefly heard Sal scoff, and whisper under his breath, “You wouldn’t know, Philip, no one’s let you even get near them to do that.”

Travis let out a snort, causing everyone to turn to stare at him.

“Find something funny, Travis?”

Shit, shit,  _ shit, _ Travis was never good at lying. He usually hid stuff by smacking it, or something.

“Ahem, I uh. I mean, isn’t it a bit funny that men would, uh, jump overboard just for the promise of such a vulgar act when they had wives waiting for them?”

Travis’s face was red as the teacher gasped a bit.

“What an excellent discussion topic! Now, who can branch off of that…”

Once more, the teacher’s voice faded from Travis’s mind.

He was quiet, the pen moving once more as pictures flashed across his mind.

Blue eyes. They always reminded him of the sky on a clear day. 

There weren’t long lashes, no. But the lashes were there, stubby and unkempt some would say.

He couldn’t find a picture in his mind to describe the face that surrounded the eyes, but the bangs that blocked some of the eyes from view was most definitely blue as well.

His pen moved of its own accord, and he found himself drawing pigtails, blue eyes and hair and a face that wasn’t a face.

He drew the call of the sirens into his notebook, and as he did so, he lost touch with the reality that he’d currently been living in until that moment.

What would he want to know, should he come across some sirens?

Others would want to know if they’d be successful; more would want to know if they could get laid.

But Travis…. Travis….. he wanted to know if Sally Face could be his friend.

Could hang out with him.

Would maybe…. love him?

Travis heard the bell ring sharply, yanking him out of the forbidden path he’d wandered into.

He slammed his notebook shut, collected his things, and briskly walked out of the classroom.

_ The siren continues its call. _

“Travis?” Sally has poked his head out of the classroom. “Could I talk to you?”

“No. Leave me alone.”

“Travis, I-“

“I said leave me alone!” Travis’s voice was now on the borderline from screaming or crying, and he didn’t want to know which one.

Ignoring Sally’s calls, he moved down the hallway to his next period. 

This class wasn’t one he shared with Sal, thankfully. He needed some time away from him, just enough to get his breathing and heart rate under control. Just enough to ground himself and remember where his priorities lie.

_ We are all God’s children, _ he remembered as he opened his notebook.  _ He gave us the gift of life; it’s only fair that we dedicate our lives to him to show our gratitude.  _

_ Because life is a gift. _ Even if it hadn’t been feeling like it lately. 

Life always came with challenges; tests of faith here and there. Logically Travis knew that. But things had become so complicated with his father, who now constantly made him feel like he was walking on eggshells no matter what he did or said. He had no one to talk to about it; his mother had left them years ago and he wasn’t certain she’d return any of his calls, and he didn’t really have any friends. There were people at the church who were around his age, but it really wasn’t the same.

_ Maybe Sal could be a... _ Travis stopped that train of thought. That was the exact problem.

He’d suspected that he might not be having feelings for...the right kind of people for a while now. When he went out shopping, it wasn’t the magazine covers featuring perfectly airbrushed women that caught his attention, but the ones starring tall, confident men in suits. His last real friend had been a boy from his congregation. They’d been close, but in a way that Travis worried about. He’d moved away two years ago, and while Travis had been sad to lose that one bit of solidarity, it had also been a huge relief, not having to see that particular temptation up close and personal anymore.

For a while, everything had been fine. Travis was left to deal with the challenges in his life that he was used to, turning to prayer and bible readings for comfort in between school and his father. 

But then high school had started, and the new student Sal Fisher had shown up.

_ Why, God?  _ he thought miserably as his teacher talked. He knew he should be paying attention right now, but his eyes blurred as he stared at the Spanish participles on the chalkboard.  _ Why test me  _ now _ when things are already so difficult for me? Haven’t I been loyal enough to you to earn a break? _

At that moment, the teacher’s lecture was interrupted by a sudden announcement. Bologna Day was going to be moved back a day due to an issue with the school’s supply of food being delivered late.

Travis flopped back in his seat with a groan.  _ Welp. Guess that answers that. _

 

Sal meant well when he walked in on him crying in the bathroom like some little bitch pansy. Travis had no reason to think otherwise, nor did he think he was going to tell anyone about their talk. 

It was just that the rest of the world seemed to be going out of its way to make things tough for Travis right now. He suspected the encounter should have made him feel better, but if anything, right now he just felt even more mixed up.

_ He wants to be your friend. It’s exactly what you wanted. _

_ Right? _

Travis didn’t understand Sal. Right now, he wasn’t sure he really understood anything anymore. 

_ Stupid Sal... _ That little blue-haired siren might very well be Travis’s undoing.


	33. Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and Travis comes to a few different realizations.

“Hey, Sal. You got a minute?”

Sal looked up, making the braid he’d decided to wear today thump against his shoulder. “Hey, Travis! What’s up?”

Travis seemed to find his shoes particularly interesting right then.“You had Mr. Felter last semester, right?”

“The English Lit teacher? Yeah, I took his class. Why?”

“Well, it’s just…” 

Sal waited patiently as Travis scratched the back of his neck in a way that made him look endearingly shy. “Did he make you read Frankenstein last semester, too?”

“Yep! I liked it.” Sal paused for a moment, jumping to what he thought was a reasonable conclusion. He’d tutored Travis in math for a short while before, after all. “Do you want me to help you out with it? Share notes I took, summarize things for you, that sort of thing?”

Travis seemed to deflate with relief, letting his head sink into his shoulders. “Would you? I’m a decent writer, but my reading comprehension is just…”

“It’s okay, Travis. Really! I’d be glad to!” Though he knew Travis couldn’t see his smile, he was sure he could hear it in how he spoke. Travis was giving him a small smile back. “Your place or mine?”

 

They agreed on Sal’s apartment. While Travis hadn’t seen any ghosts yet, he immediately believed Sal when he told him the place was haunted. 

The fact that Travis would prefer to spend time with ghosts and demons instead of risk running into his dad was pretty telling, Sal secretly thought. He didn’t bring that up, though; if Travis wanted to talk about that, he would do it on his own terms.

In a few sessions, they’d covered the wordy prologue and Victor Frankenstein’s childhood before finally getting to the good part: the university student grave robbing in order to create life in the form of a hideous, tall, undead man.

That particular session was interrupted when Travis burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Sal asked, perplexed. 

“I’m sorry,” Travis said after a snort, “I’m just imagining it. He’s horrified by what he’s done, so he just...goes to sleep? Just…’Here’s a problem! I’ll just sleep on it. Maybe it’ll fix itself in the morning!’”

The mental image  _ was _ pretty funny, Sal had to agree. He giggled along with Travis. “Also, I’ve always wondered, how did he escape? Was there a door leading somewhere else? Did he just like...scootch past the monster, saying ‘Excuse me’ before running off screaming?”

Travis wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, and it occurred to Sal that he hadn’t seen him laugh before. “Was there a window? Did he jump out the window?”

Sal laughed so hard he almost started crying. The laughter of the two boys lasted for a full two minutes before it finally died down. 

“I almost feel bad,” Sal said, holding his hurting sides, “I’m pretty sure Mary Shelley didn’t mean for that scene to be funny.”

Travis wiped his eyes again, which were distinctly more teary this time. “No,” he said lightly, “I’m pretty sure she didn’t.”

Sal cleared his throat and straightened his old notes and papers out. “Seriously, it _ is _ a pretty good book. It’s an important part of history, you know? This is like...the first piece of science fiction ever.” Sal was more of a horror buff than anything else, but he’d grown to like sci fi, too, thanks to Todd. He’d kept this in mind as he dragged through the particularly purple prosey parts.

“Is it? Really?”

“Yep! First one really recorded, anyway.” Todd had gone into more detail about it, but Sal didn’t remember quite how he’d put it.

“Huh. A woman did that...”

Sal’s first instinct was to say something snarky.  _ Uh, yeah? Women are people? They’ve  _ always _ been doing things?  _ he wanted to say. He stopped himself, though. He’d noticed Travis biting his tongue to keep from saying anything venomous since the bathroom incident; it was only fair if he granted him the same courtesy. “You sound surprised,” was what he managed.

“I just… I guess I never really thought about it that way before?” Travis was struggling to get the words out. “It’s that self-awareness thing, I guess.”

“You do an awful lotta guessing, yknow?” Sal fiddled with the bracelet on his wrist, running a finger along the edge of it .

Travis chuckled. “Yeah, that seems to be my life. Guessing and wondering.”

Sal crosses his ankles, a smile in his voice, “on the bright side, you can always ask questions, and maybe the world will make a little bit of sense.”

Track rubbed the back of his head as he looked over the notes. “Right…. Wait, does this say she kept her husband’s heart after he died?!” 

He picked up the notebook as Sal laughed, “Yeah. She kept it wrapped up in his favorite poem, too.”

“This is insane, all of this.” He was breathless, reading through the notes. “Oh my--“

“What part are you on?” Sal scooted his chair to be near Travis’s, seeing which part he was on. 

“She’d had 3 kids by 21?” 

“Mhm.”

“And she… oh.”

“Lost her virginity on her mother’s grave. Yep!”

“This is the woman that wrote Frankenstein?”

“Yep!”

Sal watched Travis as he sat, dumbfounded, staring at the page.

“Well now some of the book makes more sense.”

Sal ended up laughing so hard he found it hard to breath, which made Travis laugh until he couldn’t even be heard.

Mary Shelley, the greatest woman to make Travis question himself.


	34. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal invites Travis to sleep over for the first time.

Sal had always had trouble sleeping, and it had only gotten worse since moving to Addison Apartments. 

He did his best to be responsible; he tried to go to bed at reasonable hours and always set more than one alarm.

But without fail, every day, waking up would become a chore. Thankfully his dad worked home some days; without him to gently yet persistently wake him up, there were days Sal wasn’t sure he would’ve made it to school.

_ Maybe if Larry and I hadn’t used those sleeping pills on Charlie... _ he thought wistfully as he just stopped himself from falling asleep on his own chest during English. Since then his father no longer kept that prescription in the bathroom, but hidden in his own bedroom.

Sal understood, all things considered. But he wished he and his father could have talked about it. Ever since The Incident, they didn’t really talk about anything big or serious. It just wasn’t done. 

Sal loved his father, and he knew his father loved him, even if it  _ had _ been years since he’d said so. He just wished things were different between them.

Of course, he was aware of how much worse things could be, too. 

Since moving to Nockfell, there’d been a noticeable decrease in how much people bullied him. It might have had something to do with becoming best friends with Larry Johnson, who everyone knew had spent time in Juvenile Hall, or maybe there were just fewer people in town who were complete assholes. 

But of course, that didn’t mean there were  _ no  _ bullies. One of the more persistent ones was one Travis Phelps. 

“He’s the pastor’s son at Phelps Ministry,” Todd explained one lunchtime while Travis glared daggers at them. “He puts up a polite front most of the time, but others…” He’d absently rubbed a spot on his scalp where Travis had thrown a crumpled up note earlier when none of the adults were looking. 

“You sound familiar with it,” Sal had said with a frown. It was one thing for people to bully  _ him; _ he was used to it. But the idea that people would go after Todd actually made him angry.

Todd merely shrugged. “It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. Homophobic slurs, being told that Neil and I will go to Hell…” He rolled his eyes. “As though there aren’t plenty of _ other  _ reasons why I’m not going to Heaven.”

Sal had laughed. “You and me, both! Guess I’ll see you there!”

Todd had smiled at him. “I look forward to it!”

Maybe that should have been the end of it, but as Sal was bombarded by Travis’s special homophobic, ableist brand of hostility week after week, he couldn’t help but notice it.

Sal was familiar with bullies. He knew how they operated. Oftentimes, they were privileged, if not outright spoiled; they did what they did and said what they said because they’d never had to deal with the consequences of their actions before.

Sal got no such impression from Travis. Every scowl or glare, every hateful word, all seemed to come from someplace else. Someplace angry and painful. 

It was for that reason that he consistently ignored Larry and Ash’s suggestions that he report Travis. Something told him it wouldn’t do anyone any good. If his suspicions about where the bruises on Travis’s body came from were correct, it might even get one of them hurt worse.

So when he walked in on Travis crying in the bathroom, he approached the situation with patience and understanding. Maybe someone else in Sal’s situation would have laughed and told everyone, but that just wasn’t his style.

He thought of his father, who’d become withdrawn after the death of his wife, turning to alcohol instead of discussing his problems. His father, who’d initially disapproved of his son growing his hair long, painting his nails, and wearing skirts, but who’d never told him not to or made him feel small for doing so. 

Sal couldn’t help but wonder if he might have turned out more like Travis if his father was more like Pastor Phelps. Maybe that was one reason why he offered friendship instead of ridicule.

In any case, it worked. Things moved slowly with Travis at first, but they picked up as he realized more and more how serious Sal was about being his friend. 

So when he’d asked Sal if he could sleep over at his house one Friday night, how could he say ‘no?’

Sal understood full well why Travis had asked to stay the night at his place. Despite Sal consistently describing the Apartments as ‘sort of run down, but still good’, it seemed that they were better than the 3 bedroom house that Travis had grown up in his entire life.

Then again, Sal reminded himself--it wasn’t the house that made the person, but the person that made the house. Hence why he saw no reason to apologize for the small size of his room. 

“It’s big enough for the two of us, so I can understand if you’d wanna take the bed. It’s only big enough for one, but I can sleep on the floor just fine.”

Travis’s movements were hesitant and cautious. His eyes flicked around as he assured Sal that it was fine, it was all fine. He had nothing to worry about.

“Yknow, it’s okay if you want to just, relax for a bit. Check out my room and all. I can go ask my dad if we can have snacks and stuff in my room so you can have a second alone.”

“Do you really think that’ll be alright? You’re just gonna trust me with your stuff?”

“Travis, I promise that if anything were to go missing, I’d know who’s done it, and it wouldn’t even be worth much on any form of market. I trust you.”

With that, Sal had left Travis to his own devices, speaking with his father about the rules of the sleepover and the snacks they were allowed.

Sal also took the time to ask his dad how his day had gone, and listened to the somewhat-detailed explanation of ‘nothing much’. 

“I’m gonna go back to my room, okay?”

“Okay, Sally.”

“Oh, and one more thing--please make sure that you don’t like, suddenly open the door or something. It might scare Travis, and he’s going through a hard time already.”

Henry sat up, worry on his brow as he stared at his son. 

“You mean that that boy’s father…?”

Sal only nodded, holding the bag of chips he held a bit more closely to his chest.

“I don’t want to get into details, but promise me you won’t do anything. That’s for Travis to decide, and… and I doubt the police would do anything because of a lack of evidence.”

Henry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sal stood quietly, waiting for confirmation.

“Alright, I won’t do anything. But if he ever gives me the go-ahead, I’m making the call, no holds barred.”

There was a softness and sincerity in Sal’s voice that told Henry he made the right choice.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem, Son.”

Reluctantly, Henry sat down and returned to his shows. However, he now had a bad taste in his mouth, and could hardly focus as his thoughts ran a mile a minute. 

Sal, in the meantime, returned to his room. Travis was sitting quietly in the desk chair that Sal had since set out, and he gave Travis a cheery “I have snacks!”

“Oh, do you?” Travis gave Sal a smile, which even from where he was, he could see was forced. 

Deciding not to push the issue, Sal made a dramatic show of setting the snacks and cans of soda on the bed, going to his closet and setting out a blanket and pillows. 

“So, first order of business for sleepovers--we should watch a movie.”

Travis sat up a bit more. “What kind of movies do you have?” 

“Well, I have a vast selection, my dear Travis.”

Travis felt his heart flutter, and he felt his cheeks burn. He quickly shook his head when Sal wasn’t looking, listening when Sal began listing off the movies that hung out on his bookshelf. It helped ground him.

Sal’s first thought was a horror film; he remembered what a blast he’d had at his last sleepover with Larry, watching his favorite zombie flick. He put that thought aside, though, as he remembered his new friend’s upbringing. Something about zombies seemed pretty un-Christian to Sal, so maybe something else would be better.

Maybe something animated would work better for him. But what if Travis thought it was babyish or that he was patronizing him? 

Maybe the tapes he’d recorded various episodes of television would be the way to go. Then again, Sal didn’t know what Travis’s history with sleepovers was; maybe he wasn’t yet ready for a proper marathon.

“What do you feel like watching?” he finally asked after five solid minutes of indecision.

He saw Travis shrug out of the corner of his eye. “You choose, I’m good with anything.”

_ That’s a big help _ , Sal thought with a huff. He almost gave up when a stark black and white cover caught his eye. He tugged it out of the shelf.  _ Edward Shovelhands. _

That might actually work. It was one of Sal’s favorite movies; it was quirky and fun and actually really heart-warming. 

If Travis watched it, he might enjoy it, and he’d learn more about Sal and his interests. 

With that he popped the tape into the VCR and turned on the television.

Sal enjoyed it as much as the other fifty-something times he’d seen it, but this time was special, because he kept glancing over at Travis to see how he kept reacting. Travis was quiet through the whole thing, but just glancing at his expressions change with the scenery in the film was entertaining. 

The one that Sal noticed the most was the romance scene. “Hold me,” said the cute blonde girl as she gazed up at Edward.

“I can’t…” It was at the moment when the girl wrapped her arms around Edward that he looked at Travis again.

He couldn’t exactly place what the expression was; Travis was staring at the screen with his mouth slightly open. He turned his head, most likely to glance at Sal; when he realized he was already looking at him, he quickly turned back to the screen, cheeks dusted with red.

Sal smiled through the rest of the movie.

They turned the bedroom light off around eleven-thirty, when Henry popped his head in to tell them that it was getting late. They didn’t go to sleep afterwards, though; from there on out they took turns playing Clumpy the Mutant Monkey whenever one of them died. Travis died far more frequently than Sal, but he didn’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to focus on the snacks that required more than one hand to use. “That thing’s ugly,” Travis said around a mouthful of kettle korn. 

Sal shrugged as he made Clumpy avoid another fly. “I’ve seen uglier.” 

“What mutated him, anyway?”

“I actually don’t know,” Sal admitted as he made the poor hideous monkey swing his sword. “Larry had the manual for the game when he first got it, but I think he lost it somewhere.” 

“Probably radiation,” Travis suggested. “It’d be cool if it actually gave you wings in real life, instead of...you know. Killing you.” 

“It would!” Sal paused the game to reach for a handful of salt and vinegar chips. “I’ve always wanted to fly.” Before he and his father had moved to Nockfell, they’d discussed the prospect of flying there from Jersey instead of the day-long drive, but had ultimately decided it would be too difficult and unfair for Gizmo. 

“Me, too. I’d fly far away from here.” Travis sounded wistful, and it made Sal’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t explain. 

“Could I come with? Where would we go?”

Travis shrugged. “Anywhere but here.” 

“I was born in New Jersey, you know. Would you want to go there?”

“Really? What was it like?”

They spent the rest of the night talking. When Henry woke up to check on them, they’d both fallen asleep on the floor. The television screen was still on and still paused on the screen of the game they’d been playing last night.

He’d gone into gently wake them up, since it was noon, but he let them sleep just a little longer.


	35. Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birds had become old friends of Sal's.

The birds on the fence had become old friends of Sal’s since he woke up here. It felt like they were the only ones who listened when he talked.

It was lonely, so their company made him grateful. He spoke to them as he applied fertilizer and manure to the soil, churning it with spades and shovels until blisters formed on his palms and fingers. They seemed to listen as he talked about how perfect the weather was--there were enough rainy days in between planting seeds that he didn’t have to worry about watering them every day, but the rest of the time the sun shone in the sky, not too warm, not too cold. They listened as he talked about what he was planting; the seasons seemed to blur into each other here, but that didn’t seem to matter much to his cabbages and radishes and carrots and onions and potatoes. They all seemed to do well, no matter what time of year it was. He told them any and all things on his mind as he pulled weeds and poured pasta water and kept an eye out for insects. 

There never were any, so he never used insect killers. When the birds had first appeared, red ones and brown ones and black ones and blue ones, he’d considered putting up a scarecrow, but they never came any closer than the fence around his garden. 

 

The sun was relentless; awful, hot, and since it was nearing to noon, it was almost overhead Sal, making him sweat all the more.

Despite his hands beginning to feel as if they were becoming encased in their own sauna, Sal continued his gardening. He could go inside and get a lemonade, or maybe even just rest for the day and worry about harvesting twice as much the next day for the future farmers market.

Unknowingly, Sal thought aloud to the birds. 

“It’s in about two weeks, y’know.” He wrenched a weed from the ground--it was small, but it still needed to be taken out.

_ A small girl asking him if she can ride on his shoulders. _

Sal’s shoulders tensed as his mind supplied the random memory. He felt as if he should know the girl, felt as if he needed to do something about her very being. His heart, if it could feel such a way, felt hollow and vacant.

“... I don’t want to know what I did.” He whispered, bringing the soft soil around a small, thriving plant. “I did something, but I don’t know if I wanna know.”

He’d been alone for all these years, planting in the garden. Yes, he’d managed to find a few memories as he worked in the garden; in fact, it seemed that that was the only place he could find said memories.

The kitchen, while heartwarming, wasn’t a place to dig out the memories that were hidden in his mind.

The living room, full of crafts and photo books that he’d made in the years he’d been here, were not echoing the past. It only contained his present and the hope for the future he looked to.

Baths did nothing to lure out memories either. Just the scent of bath bombs and salts. 

The garden was where the magic truly worked. He wasn’t sure if it was the forest that surrounded his garden, the scent of the flowers and vegetables, or the gleaming colors.

He just knew that the beautiful images he saw every day were hiding a dark and ugly secret.

He may have lost his memories, and nearly his life, to the accident that brought him to this town.

A constant memory he would dig up would be the car swerving, his hands on the wheel, the prayer on his lips that  _ this should do the trick.  _

The loud skidding of the tires, the inability to breathe--

He stopped in the middle of the path with his water pail.

Something wanted him dead during that time.

He wasn’t sure if it was himself as a suicidal teenager, or if it was somebody chasing him.

He just knew that flashes of blonde hair and dark skin kept appearing.

He wished that he could know who this person was--clearly they were important if they were repeated so vividly, so often.

“Right, right.” He murmured to no one in particular. “The carrots.”

Shaking off the cloak of fear and worry, he headed into the garden, swinging open the wrought iron fence.

_ Iron keeps dark things away from what is good.  _ He forgot where he’d heard that before, but it didn’t hurt to keep it in mind. 

He poured water into a watering can. It was deep green with a yellow flower painted on each of its sides. The trusty thing gave the carrots exactly how much water they needed. He pulled on one, smiling as it escaped from the soil. They were nearly ready; just about two more weeks and they’d be perfect.

They’d be ready to sell at the marketplace. 

“I always love going to the market,” he told the birds. A female cardinal tilted her head to the side in that quick, twitchy way that birds do. It was so natural that Sal could almost ignore the fact that she had piercing green eyes that he’d never seen on a cardinal before. “It’s the most exciting part of my life these days.” The birds were good listeners, but never said anything back, save for the occasional bit of birdsong.

There were no people for miles around the small cottage. It was quiet and peaceful; from what little bits and pieces Sal could remember from his previous life, it was a nice change of pace.

It did get lonely, though. The dreams didn’t help; not when that dark-skinned, pale-haired man kept appearing, putting a strange sense of longing in Sal’s heart.

He looked over the fence, past the bird with the strange glowing eyes. The trees in the distance touched something at the back of his mind. It was something familiar, but he didn’t know how, exactly. He squinted, tilted his head, trying to jog something. Anything.

Nothing but the wind sounded in his ears.

With a sigh, he tended to the potatoes.

 

The marketplace was bustling with activity, as usual. Everywhere he looked, someone had set up their stand to sell their artisanal goods. One woman was selling fresh eggs, milk, and baked goods; a man and his daughter were selling clothing made from home-spun yarn they’d dyed themselves. Sal did business with those people on occasion; they made the dye with vegetables from his garden. 

Sal went to work setting up his stand. He placed the carrots front and center; they were the most eye-catching and visually appealing. To the right of them he placed the radishes, then the cabbages; to the left, the large yellow onions and potatoes. 

Sal was certain he didn’t know much about art. So why did he know how to place his produce in a way that made their colors stand out so much?

Just one more thing that added to the mystery of his past.

The customers started off coming slow, but sped up as the day went on. It usually did get busiest during noon. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary until the customers started to die down. Sal was just barely able to see someone behind the small crowd; someone tall, wearing purple.

With bright blond hair.

Sal’s heart was in his throat. He dropped what he was doing and ran from the stall.

It was only when he’d caught up to the man, placed a hand on his shoulder, and watched him turn around that he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Yes?” the man asked. His skin was just a bit darker than it was in Sal’s dreams and memories, as though he spent more time outdoors now. His hair was a bit lighter, too, as though the sun had bleached it. He was considerably broader-shouldered and had more scars.

But his large, dark eyes were exactly the same. 

“I…” Sal started, unable to get any other words out. He licked his lower lip and tried again. “I’m so sorry, but...do we know each other?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. Sal’s heartbeat sped up when he saw a spark of recognition within them.

“You know...I think we might.” The man took one of Sal’s hands between his own, and Sal was taken aback by how much larger, warmer, and rougher his hands were. “I’m Travis. What’s your name?”

“It’s Sal. My name is Sal.”


	36. Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal falls asleep on Travis, and the boy is overcome with FEELINGS.

The best part about sleeping over at Sa’ls house was that Sal genuinely helped him.

He’s been to sleepovers before, don’t get him wrong! It was just that, sometimes, his dad was very controlling and abusive. Even sleeping over at another guy’s house became a huge deal if Travis expressed interest in the guys there, unless he managed to convince his dad that the attraction was friendly, and mostly over the topics they discussed.

It grew so bad, that Travis decided to just stop going over to sleepovers altogether unless they were set up by the church. 

Usually then, his dad would be able to see him whenever he glanced around the room, and he was nicer to Travis because they were now in the public eye.

But Sal…. he changed the entire game, essentially.

Sal was great at lying; amazing even. He’d once told Travis that he used to be really into acting, mostly due to the mask and his want of expressing (or repressing) his emotions when he went out and about. It was, in a way, an attempt at making more friends.

Travis thought that this was silly and unnecessary to know--at first.

Then Sal began asking him to come sleep over, to which Travis would always turn down, citing his father as an excuse.

What he didn’t expect was Sal demanding to meet his father.

Begrudgingly, after realizing Sal wasn’t budging, he introduced Sal to his dad.

The two chatted easily, which kept Travis on edge. It was fine now, but what would happen if his father disapproved?

“I see you like to keep your hair long.” His father had nodded his head, but Travis knew it was a test. 

Sal cocked his head to the side. “I read in the Bible that God had given a man divine powers in exchange for not cutting his hair. I also believe it’s a sin to do so.”

Travis’s father was caught off guard, but he smiled. Travis began to relax as Sal continued to deflect trip-up questions (“why are you wearing nail polish, why are you doing x, why aren’t you doing y?”), simply pointing out bits of the Bible to aid himself.

“Mr.Phelps, sir, I would very much like to have an overnight a Bible session with Travis. We’d be reading the Bible, talking of ways we could persuade others to go to church, and think of fundraisers to donate to charities.”

Travis was astounded by how easily Sal lied, his eyes nearly owlish.

“That’s right!” He piped up, putting on a smile. “Sal kept suggesting that we learn to hand-make certain things so that we could sell those in the hopes that we could donate to the needy.”

Travis’s father wasn’t quite convinced. “And what about when you’re not doing that?”

Travis spoke now. “I was going to ask Sal if he was interested in any sports, and we would study for our Biology test on Wednesday.”

There was a tense pause as Travis’s father glared at them; then, he nodded.

“Alright. I approve.” 

Travis smiled, careful not to grin too wide.

Sal stood and shook Mr.Phelps hand. “Thank you sir. Glad we could earn your approval beforehand.”

“You seem like a right young man. Bit odd, that mask there.”

“Oh, it’s a prosthetic, sir.”

Mr.Phelps’s eyes went wide, and he apologized, which Sal brushed off. 

“We should get going, sir. My dad’s waiting outside to take us to my house.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Mr.Phelps smiled, and the two left.

Once they were far enough away, Travis let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Holy shit.”

Sal snickered, parting Travis’s back.

“I can’t believe we lied to my dad.”

“Well it wasn’t hard.”

“I know, but still…”

Travis smiled, a genuine smile that Sal had never seen before.

“You’ve got a nice smile,” he said as he hopped into the back of his Dad’s car.

“Thanks.” Travis rubbed the back of his neck, becoming embarrassed. 

The drive back was full of excitement and energy, minus Travis.

Henry blasted music, Sal tried to sing along, and it seemed all too soon before Travis and Sal were chucking their stuff into Sal’s bed.

Travis asked to sit on a bean bag--getting permission, he did so.

“So. What do you actually want to d, tonight?” Travis looked over, Sals back to him as he heard the rattle of pills.

Sal pretended to gasp. “The priest’s son doesn’t actually want to talk about our lord and savior, Mozzarella Sticks?”

Travis ended up laughing, although he would continually proclaim that he held it for a good while.

The mozzarella sticks were delicious, of course. “It’s deep fried cheese that you dunk in tomato sauce; of course it’s good,” Sal told him. 

“You two better appreciate it; I slaved over a hot stove for hours to make these.” Henry was obviously joking; the sticks had come prepackaged from a freezer.

Still, it made Travis sit up that much straighter. The need to behave himself in front of an adult man was instinct, by this point. 

If Sal noticed, he didn’t say anything, though he did push the tiny container of marinara sauce closer to Travis. 

The  incredibly nutritious meal of cheese, fat, and sauce weighed on stomachs of both boys, and Travis couldn’t remember a time when he felt more relaxed or contented. Sal suggested watching television on his incredibly comfortable couch, and Travis couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

Sal gave him the remote. “You’re the guest; you choose,” he said. 

Travis found that to be too many choices all at once, so he chose to surf through the channels. Some things looked more interesting than others, but ultimately he couldn’t choose. 

At some point, he reached static. By then he and Sal had wound up closer together on the couch. 

“Something creepy about static, isn’t there?” asked Travis. “Or is that just me?”

He got no response. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to his right. 

Just in time to see Sal nod once, bounce back up lightly, and then finally lean against his side.

“Uh…” he started. “Sal…?”

Sal merely sighed. 

Travis gulped and strained his neck to get a better look. He saw that Sal’s eyes were closed, and his heartbeat increased.

Had he fallen asleep? Was he currently sleeping on Travis’s shoulder? 

_ Oh my God,  _ thought Travis. That was all he _ could _ think.  _ Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD… _

How? How had that happened? When had Sal gotten so comfortable around him that he felt like he could just drift off on top of him?

_ When did that happen? _

As Travis freaked out, Sal sighed again and made a soft noise in his sleep, shifting ever so slightly until his face was better lodged in Travis’s shoulder.

_ Oh fuck... _ It should have been illegal for one single human being to be that adorable, Travis thought. 

_ What do I do? Shit, what do I do? _ Sal was so, so still, and right then Travis wanted to be, too, but nerves were tempting him to twitch. 

_ Don’t move,  _ he ordered himself.  _ Don’t you DARE move.  _ Travis took a deep breath and resumed channel surfing, this time with his left hand. 

He’d been trapped before in his life. But this is the first time he’s ever felt good about it. So he took a deep breath and, as carefully as he could, leaned back against the couch. 

Sal was soft and warm against him, and despite his initial freak-out, Travis found his heart melting. When was the last time he’d had this kind of physical contact with someone? 

He kept his ride side as still as he dared, but with his left hand, he risked tucking a piece of Sal’s hair behind his right ear. 

_ He looks so peaceful. So...cute!  _ Honestly, how was this fair?

Uncertain of what else to do, he resigned himself to leaning against the back of the couch and letting Sal continue to sleep on him. 

It was the greatest, most stressful night of his young life.

 

Henry wished he had a camera. 

The sight of the two boys sleeping against each other on the couch was too sweet; it was a moment that deserved to be immortalized for the rest of time.

_ Oh well,  _ he thought,  _ I’ll remember this, anyway. _

With that he draped a blanket over Sal and Travis and left them to it.


	37. Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Sal should have thought twice before taking Travis to a horror movie.
> 
> Then again, maybe he made the right call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was only written by me. A headcanon both me and BJD share is that Sal loves horror movies, and Travis hates them.

“You okay, Travis?” Sal whispered. 

Travis’s fingertips dug into Sal’s forearm that much deeper, actually starting to cause pain. “ _Fine,”_ came the harsh whisper back.

Sal didn’t believe him in the slightest. He didn’t have to be able to see him to know that the expression on his face was one of fear.

He’d been so enthusiastic to watch the new flick, English Werewolf in America, that he hadn’t even considered whether the good Christian boy he’d recently become friends with could handle horror movies.

Sal was watching the transformation scene in complete awe, marveling at the effects.

Travis, on the other hand, kept squeezing Sal’s arm every time the actor on screen showed pain or cried out in agony; near the end of the scene, when he was more wolf than man, Travis finally buried his face in Sal’s shoulder.

On the one hand, Sal felt bad that Travis wasn’t enjoying himself. On the other, it was kind of a nice feeling, having his new friend turn to him for comfort when afraid. 

Sal almost felt bad for enjoying himself.

Almost.


End file.
